Harry Potter and the Path to Power
by Traveller
Summary: 5th year DR. When Harry returns from Hogwarts things have changed. Vernon Dursley is not the man he was. The Path begins. Thrust into Power as head of his Noble house because of Dumbledore's machinations, Harry learns that power comes in many forms.
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
Uncle Vernon didn't speak a word till they got to the car; "Get in boy." 'Boy' was pronounced as something distasteful. Harry knew this would be another pleasant summer at the Dursleys. And to think that he had left his friends and his world only five minutes ago.  
  
During the drive to Little Whinging Uncle Vernon again said not a word. The silence was unnerving. If he'd been sneered at, he would at least know what was going on, but this silence projected all kinds of horrors into Harry's head. What where the Dursleys up to? Harry kept wondering.  
  
Then his mind turned to the events of the last task. Pure unadulterated guilt swept though him; the memory was always there humming in his mind, building guilt upon guilt but from time to time it would fully consume him, a time such as now.  
  
Harry was still condemning himself for Cedric's death and nothing anyone had said about 'it not being his fault had changed that feeling, although on a rational level he knew they were right. Nothing the Dursleys could do to him would atone for his mistakes; he deserved it all....  
  
  
  
At 4 Privet Drive Uncle Vernon turned on Harry and said: "There will be no 'funny business' this year, your aunt Petunia is in a bad way and she needs her rest and her medication. You will go to your room and stay there unless I say otherwise. You will keep the house clean, cook our meals and make yourself useful if and when I let you out of your room. Do you understand me boy?"  
  
Harry only nodded, to numb to say anything.  
  
"I said: Do you understand boy?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, anger and hate clear in his eyes.  
  
"Yes Uncle Vernon" Harry replied weakly, to caught up in guilt to feel anything else.  
  
Uncle Vernon then marched into the house, clearly expecting Harry to do the same. Harry lifted his things and followed. 


	2. Chapter I

Chapter I  
  
Harry was locked in his room and had not eaten since he had gotten back, which was yesterday, but he didn't care.  
  
He didn't care about anything anymore. All he could think about, now that he had nothing to distract him, was what had happened at the graveyard in which he and Cedric had ended up at after the third task .Kill the spare.  
  
Then he heard something knocking on the window. It was Pig with what was probably a letter from Ron. With visions of Cedric's dead eyes still clear in his memory he took the letter and read:  
  
  
  
Harry,  
  
Hope you got home o.k. That Muggle looked even nastier than usual.  
  
Mum's been talking to Dumbledore about you staying here but apparently you have to stay with your relatives because of some sort of protective wards that are generated there (at least that's what I overheard when Mum was talking to Dad about it).  
  
Don't let the Muggles get you down. (If it gets too bad I've already convinced George and Fred to help me get you out no matter what the oldies say; just owl me)  
  
Cheers mate,  
  
Ron  
  
  
  
Harry had a small smile on his lips, Ron was a good friend.  
  
Then the image of Ron and a dead Cedric flashed though his mind. an abrupt change had Ron lying there, with dead eyes staring up at him .kill the spare. Harry shook his head violently; this would give him a whole new level of nightmares.  
  
"BOY", it was Uncle Vernon, "GET DOWN HERE NOW."  
  
Harry walked to the door and found it unlocked. Uncle Vernon must have unlocked it last night or this morning. Harry hadn't noticed; he hadn't cared.  
  
When Harry came downstairs he saw Aunt Petunia lying on the couch and Uncle Vernon standing beside her, looking at her worriedly; then his eyes turned to Harry an the worry was replaced with anger. "Been lying around all day have we? We'll fix that. Go make dinner."  
  
Walking into the kitchen Harry was not surprised to see Dudley sitting there- the boy had once spent an entire summer in the kitchen watching television and eating.  
  
Something was different but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then it struck him. Dudley wasn't eating; he was just staring into space.  
  
"Dudley?" Harry asked for the first time feeling something like worry for one of his relatives. Dudley had such a vacant look in his eyes it was plain creepy.  
  
"Its Mum, you know," Dudley suddenly said, "she's gone mad. Has to take all sorts of medicine."  
  
Harry was somewhat shocked. A member of the most normal family ever go mad? Not very likely. Then he saw all the medicine bottles on the shelf near the kitchen sink.  
  
He walked over and looked at them. He didn't recognize any names except one: Prozac. He knew that Prozac was an anti-depressant used by Muggles; he'd seen it on the telly. Aunt Petunia was depressed; leave it to Dudley to call her mad because of it.  
  
Dinner was a quiet affair and Aunt Petunia didn't join them. Instead Uncle Vernon brought her a plate. Harry was denied any food. "You could do with loosing some weight, boy." After doing the dishes Harry decided that it would be best just to go to his room.  
  
Once there Harry decided it was time to write back Ron but the haunting image of his friend, lying on the ground, dead, was still dancing before Harry's eyes.  
  
On impulse he decided he didn't want to correspond with Ron too much that summer, to avoid this image and the questions he and Hermione would certainly ask: "How are you? Do you feel well? Not depressed? Dursleys treating you O.K.? You know it's not your fault don't you?"  
  
He didn't want to answer these questions because of the pity that would follow any honest answer. He didn't want pity; he didn't want to hear it was not his fault. It was his fault and he deserved anything he got.  
  
  
  
Ron,  
  
Everything is fine here. I'm going to be very busy with all kinds of chores and as you know the Dursleys don't like owl post. That means we can't write each other as often as usual. Too bad.  
  
I'll owl you when possible and then we can make plans for the summer.  
  
Harry  
  
  
  
The letter was a lie but it would buy him some time alone. He wrote a similar letter to Hermione and then sent off Pig and Hedwig.  
  
After this he laid down on his bed but sleep would not come; he didn't want sleep to come because then he would have to face his nightmares.  
  
Over the weeks following the third task and Voldemort's resurrection his nightmares had been increasing in number and intensity every night.  
  
He hadn't told anyone. he didn't want to burden them; besides he deserved them for all the mistakes he had made, for not saving Cedric.  
  
  
  
Somewhere in the state between sleep and waking Harry heard someone enter his room. He looked up and saw Uncle Vernon.  
  
"So boy," his Uncle sneered, "you let someone die, didn't you?"  
  
Harry saw a letter with a Hogwart's crest on it in Uncle Vernon's hand. Oh God, he knew. they had told him.  
  
"You saw someone die and still they sent you back here; to your 'loving relatives' who will love you and nurture you," Uncle Vernon said, every word was dripping with sarcasm.  
  
"They must really hate you boy, to send you here. I don't think they care anything for you and as for that convict godfather of yours- he was a figment of you imagination.  
  
HE DOESN'T EXIST.  
  
Things are going to change. You will not be attending that school anymore. They probably don't want you there anyway. Your freakish things will be locked up and you will not think about magic ever again.  
  
DO YOU UNDERSTAND, BOY?"  
  
Harry was overwhelmed at this speech and didn't know what to say.  
  
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, FREAK?" Uncle Vernon bellowed and he backhanded Harry.  
  
The next thing Harry knew he was lying on the ground looking up at Uncle Vernon.  
  
"I said: do you understand?" his voice was deadly and barely more than a whisper. Harry saw a multitude of emotions playing on his uncle's face: Hate, anger and a desire to inflict pain given any excuse.  
  
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry had once more receded into the vortex of guilt that dominated his mind and accepted everything as his due.  
  
Uncle Vernon turned, picked up Harry's chest and put it outside his room along with Hedwig's cage.  
  
Harry was glad Hedwig was not here; there was no telling what his Uncle would have done to his pet. After that the windows of his room where covered up with wooden boards that were brought up by Dudley. He gave Harry a malicious look, for he to knew he had free reign to torment his cousin.  
  
Just to prove his point he punched Harry in the gut before exiting the room.  
  
"Do you have anything magical left in this room freak?" this seemed to be Harry's new name.  
  
"No, Uncle Vernon," Harry stated.  
  
Again Harry found himself on the floor, his cheek stinging and he felt a little blood trickle form his lips.  
  
"DON'T LIE TO ME BOY."  
  
Deciding he didn't really care Harry told the truth: "Just my wand."  
  
"Hand it over."  
  
Harry looked up at Vernon in surprise.  
  
The man had never wanted to touch anything magical in his life and now he wanted Harry's wand?  
  
Deciding it was taking to long Vernon kicked Harry and held out his hand again, not saying anything but the threat was clear in his eyes.  
  
Slowly Harry handed over his wand; he had been keeping it up his sleeve.  
  
When Vernon took hold of the wand a shock seemed to course through his body and he took a good look at it. His eyes shone with something akin to fascination; almost lovingly he brought up his hand and stroked the wand.  
  
Then Harry saw the impossible happen. When Vernon stroked the wand black sparks flew from the tip and both Harry and Vernon looked startled.  
  
"What did you do freak?" Vernon asked a mixture of awe and revulsion in his voice.  
  
"It wasn't me," Harry whispered. "You are holding the wand."  
  
Harry was racking his brain frantically for an explanation to what he had just seen; any explanation beyond the obvious but always came back to one conclusion; the one conclusion he did not want to believe:  
  
Vernon Dursley was magically gifted. 


	3. Chapter II

Chapter II  
  
Harry was lying on his bed, a hand protectively covering his ribs. Vernon must have broken one or two when he had kicked Harry, because every breath brought pain.  
  
Vernon... Wait when did this happen.  
  
All his life Harry had called the man 'Uncle Vernon' but now every time in his mind there was only Vernon; then again why call a man who would inflict pain on you uncle? It was a term of affection or at least respect and that was something his 'uncle' did not deserve.  
  
*****  
  
Several hours passed as the house grew quiet and the sky dark. Harry heard beds squeak as Vernon and Dudley went to bed.  
  
His stomach growled, he hadn't eaten for more then 24 hours and felt the necessity.  
  
As his aunt and uncle had always underfed him Harry was used to sneaking downstairs to eat just a little more. Not too much though, because his relatives would notice.  
  
With practised steps Harry went downstairs, avoiding every floorboard and step that might give him away.  
  
Quietly he walked into the kitchen and to the refrigerator. It was filled with ready-to-go microwave meals. Apparently Aunt Petunia hadn't been cooking for some time now.  
  
Harry fixed himself a sandwich and a glass of milk and ate them. His hunger although not sated was at least lessened and he dare not take more.  
  
Not wanting to go back to bed and his nightmares, Harry walked in to the living room and froze.. Aunt Petunia was still lying on the couch and was looking straight at him.  
  
Not daring to stir, Harry waited for his aunt's next move, but she just kept staring at him.  
  
"Aunt Petunia?" Harry whispered.  
  
Her eyes shot up to his and for the first time it became clear how unfocused her gaze was. It was as if she was having difficulty keeping her eyes locked on one point and had to continually refocus.  
  
"James... James is that you?" his aunt said with a slur. "Have you finally come to take me away? I knew it was me you loved, not Lily. I'm sorry for marrying Vernon but I was pregnant, I had no choice."  
  
Harry was shocked beyond belief. What was she saying? Did she believe him to be his father? And had she been in love with his father? This was not something she would have normally said; it must be the medicine she was taking.  
  
Feeling something between disgust and pity he slowly moved towards his aunt.  
  
Standing next to her he was thinking about what to do next when suddenly she grabbed his right hand. "James....?" From this close up, Harry saw that his aunt's wrists were bandaged.  
  
"No Aunt Petunia, it's me. Harry"  
  
"Harry...? I know that name," Aunt Petunia said, her voice unsteady, eyes still unfocused.  
  
"GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU FREAK," Harry heard a voice behind him bellow.  
  
As he turned around Vernon charged Harry like a mad bull and punched him in the face. Harry fell back and hit the back of his head against the coffee table standing next to the couch. Everything went black.....  
  
****  
  
When Harry woke up he was back in his room. Not only the back of his head hurt but also his nose. it felt broken. His lower back hurt as well; Vernon must have dragged him up here not bothering to lift him.  
  
Slowly Harry stood, not sure of his own footing. He was still a little dizzy. Just as Harry was getting his bearings back the door opened and Vernon stepped in. He looked at Harry and for the first time Harry feared for his very life.  
  
"Now you're going to pay, boy." With an expression that could only be described as a combination between anger, hate and ecstasy Vernon lazily punched Harry in the face again, throwing him back against the wall. The wind was knocked out of Harry and he saw stars before his eyes.  
  
Before he could fall to the ground Vernon grabbed Harry by the throat holding him up, preventing him from falling. "I've been wanting to do this for a long, long time." Vernon's voice was low but had an excited quality to it. Still holding Harry up, Vernon proceeded to hit Harry were he could. The face came first.  
  
Although he was fighting it, Harry couldn't prevent a whimpering sound coming from his mouth. This seemed to only further Vernon's excitement and he was hitting Harry harder and harder. Vernon was now hitting Harry all over.  
  
After a succession of blows Harry felt something snap in his side. A sharp pain followed. Was this how a broken rib felt? If so, it was far worse then he had first assumed, this was nothing compared to before. Every breath was agony, like something sharp stabbed him every time he took a breath.  
  
This was however, not enough for Vernon and he continued without mercy.  
  
Harry kept hoping to lose consciousness but some how Vernon knew just what to do and what not to do, to keep him from this release of pain.  
  
Harry was now sure he had several broken ribs and his arm felt like it was broken as well after what seemed like hours of beating. He was now half sitting, half lying on the floor, not able to keep himself up.  
  
Vernon showed no sign of tiring from his game and still had a look of glee and enjoyment on his face, sweat poring all over it.  
  
"You know boy, I've been wanting to do this for years but I always thought I wouldn't get away with it. Those freaks of yours wouldn't like it, I always thought. But they don't care about you do they? Why else would they have sent you back here? They want you as little as we do," Vernon taunted  
  
Why had Dumbledore sent him back here? His uncle must be right.. they didn't want him and who could blame them, everyone around him was a target for Voldemort.  
  
While contemplating this Harry wasn't paying attention to Vernon and didn't see the kick to the kidneys coming. Pain seared through his body and he slumped to the ground. "Oh is ickle Harrykins hurt?" Vernon said in a mocking, sickly sweet tone. "Is little Harry tired?" Vernon was circling around him. "I thought you were this big bad hero? You can't even keep yourself upright."  
  
With that Vernon left the room but before the door closed Harry distinctly heard: "we'll continue this tomorrow."  
  
*****  
  
In the next few days a pattern emerged. Mornings and afternoons Vernon would go to work and Harry was able to rest as was possible through his nightmares, but as soon as Vernon was home the beatings would continue.  
  
After a few hours there was a break for dinner and some TV on Vernon's part; some bread and water for Harry, some leftovers if he was lucky. Harry learned to eat quickly. Vernon kicked the bowl with leftovers -which was precious sustenance to Harry- if he thought Harry was taking to long, spraying the food around the room. Hunger brought Harry to eating it anyway. Water was even scarcer then food.  
  
Harry was only let out of his room to use the bathroom once every morning and evening; Vernon had announced that this was only because he didn't want to suffer the stench.  
  
At the end of the evening Vernon would return and inflict pain on Harry for another hour and then turn in for bed. Dudley was never in sight. Harry thanked Merlin for small favours  
  
After the first day Vernon had also put up some more boards in Harry's room but now not only on the windows but on the walls, floor and ceiling as well. He didn't want anyone to hear Harry scream; anyone, except himself that was. Vernon thoroughly enjoyed Harry's screams.  
  
He also got more inventive in hurting Harry, not only beating him, but using other methods to.  
  
Harry fully expected to die when Vernon did not relent. but strangely enough this did not happen. Vernon was talented in the art of torture but where he had learned or even why Harry could not fathom.  
  
He was always careful to inflict a maximum of pain without endangering Harry's life; he kept him floating on the edge. It was driving Harry towards the brink of insanity.  
  
*****  
  
On what Harry reckoned was the fourth day Vernon came into his room and said in a menacing tone: "Today were going to try something different. You see I've found out something very interesting about this."  
  
To Harry's utter amazement Vernon pulled out his wand.  
  
"I was holding this thing yesterday and thought about what I was going to do to you later. Guess what happened..?" Vernon had an evil grin on his face. "No? No guess? Too bad. I'll tell you what happened. Something, a spark of some kind, shot from the tip much like before. Now, I'm guessing here, but I think that spark will do something to the person it happens to hit. I'm willing to try, are you?"  
  
Without waiting for an answer Vernon pointed Harry's own wand at him and intensely whispered: "pain."  
  
Pain shot through Harry's body as the small boy fell to the floor and convulsed. He felt his muscles spasm and go rigid; he screamed his throat raw but to no avail.  
  
It was not as bad as the Cruciatus curse but it was bad enough.  
  
Slowly the pain subsided and Harry's body went slack. Tears were streaming down his face, tears from pain and tears of joy simply because the pain was subsiding.  
  
"That hurt, didn't it?" someone whispered in his ear. It was Vernon. He had stepped closer to better observe Harry in his suffering. "Well, I think we can do a lot better. Pain!" Vernon said now with more intensity.  
  
Pain shot through Harry's body once more, even worst then before. Harry would have done anything to stop this pain. He would beg, kill, and crawl to end this pain. He howled, screamed and could not contain the tears that were pouring from his eyes.  
  
As the pain continued Harry lost control of his bladder, adding insult to injury.  
  
Then suddenly the pain was gone again. The lack of sensations brought its own sort of painful bliss.  
  
"You didn't like that, did you freak?" Vernon's voice still a deadly whisper.  
  
Vernon started ranting about what he was going to do to Harry, but his words went unnoticed.  
  
Harry was totally disgusted with himself. The complete and utter feeling of disgust was for his willingness to do anything at all to stop the pain. His lack of control  
  
Harry realized that he might feel this way but he also realised that there was nothing he could do to stop the pain.  
  
Vernon was not doing this to gain something, this was for pure pleasure.  
  
He would go mad soon. It was unavoidable if he was continually tortured.  
  
He remembered the story of Neville's parents.  
  
Harry wanted nothing more right then and there then to see his friend again. Ron and Hermione. Sirius his godfather, he could protect Harry. Molly Weasley who would shelter Harry in her arms. Others flashed before Harry's eyes: Dumbledore, Professor Lupin, Mr. Weasley and many others. Right now he'd be happy to see Voldemort; that would be a relative quick death.  
  
But none of them were there.  
  
None of them could protect Harry. He had to do it himself.  
  
Escaping was not an option, nor was overpowering Vernon. The only way out was into his mind.  
  
Harry wanted to lock away the very core of his being into a separate space he created in his mind: his feelings for his friends, the magic within him, his values, beliefs and all that which made him Harry; which made him the person he was.  
  
That part of him he decided was something Vernon would never touch; would never corrupt.  
  
The only way that space would open he decided, was when he saw his friends again, Ron and Hermione together. He knew that then he would be safe again.  
  
He also knew it was probably a futile gesture, but it was all he could do.  
  
Pain surged through Harry's body once more; he had not been paying enough attention to Vernon. It was more intense then both previous times.  
  
Again Harry was yelling and screaming, begging Vernon to stop, that he would do anything. The only reaction was laughter on Vernon's part, the laughter of a madman.  
  
Again and again pain surged through Harry's body. Only hours later did sweet release come. The world turned black.  
  
*****  
  
Again a pattern emerged. Morning and afternoons Vernon would be at work and after work he would come into Harry's room and inflict pain.  
  
The difference was that now that he was using a wand, Vernon could alter the level of pain used and take it to new heights.  
  
Vernon discovered new techniques every day. He would use the wand to simply induce pain through the nerves. Another time he discovered he could trail the wand on Harry's skin and create blisters which immediately burst open. The sweat that burned the wounds when it came into contact with them was only a minor nuisance compared to the rest. Pushing the wand to Harry's ribs and then turning it with a quick gesture while muttering "break" broke Harry's ribs.  
  
  
  
  
  
Rest during the day was also fleeting for Harry was once more having visions of Voldemort. Voldemort killing and torturing Muggles and wizards alike. Voldemort in conclave with his Death Eaters. Voldemort doing acts of magic, involving rituals so disgusting, that in a way they were hurting Harry as badly as Vernon's torture.  
  
Day after day the magic used by Vernon was more intense and as time progressed more subtle, for Vernon's skill grew as did Harry's tolerance for pain.  
  
Instead of his whole body, Harry sometimes felt pain only in his limbs or other body parts making the pain different because it was not all encompassing; leaving his conscious mind to concentrate on it. Harry's screams continued.  
  
Sometimes Vernon would beat Harry just for entertainment purposes. He specifically liked to break Harry's ribs (or after a while- keep them broken) so as to make every breath agony.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Harry felt something grow in him as time passed. It was like a white light coming from the hidden depths of his mind. It was there every time he wanted to rebel against Vernon, when he had just enough energy left to be angry or feel hatred.  
  
Whenever Harry tried to seize it, it would flow away from him like water would through his hands. After several fruitless attempts Harry gave up and decided just to let it be. It felt familiar and he was convinced it was not dangerous especially compared to Vernon. It was always there, at times more clearly, stronger, but always there. Harry could never reach it.  
  
Harry lost the concept of time. Days followed night and afternoons followed mornings in a meaningless succession. Harry dreaded each afternoon for this was when Vernon came. Exhaustion, pain, hunger, thirst, fear, anger and helplessness were his constant companions.  
  
Not once did Vernon show mercy. Quite the contrary; whenever Harry showed weakness he became more brutal. It was as if he lived for the times when Harry would scream just that much more, when Harry would collapse or when he would beg. Harry soon learned to avoid al these things, to manage the pain. Vernon only learned how to inflict more pain. It was a constant struggle, a vicious circle. Every battle took more and more out of Harry, leaving him weaker for it.  
  
One day Vernon came in to his room but Harry was now too weak to even cower in a corner, even to tired to roll up in to a foetal position for the little protection it gave, he could only lie there.  
  
"This game is coming to an end I think," Vernon said in a solemn voice that changed to a mixture of sadism and excitement as he continued, "but I have on last thing I want to try."  
  
Vernon touched the wand to Harry's scar; he had a look of anticipation and delight on his face. Through the fog that enveloped his consciousness Harry felt dread and relief all in one.  
  
Viciously Vernon whispered: "Pain."  
  
A scream came from Harry, it was the scream of a wounded animal on the brink of death, there was nothing human left about it.  
  
The world started to go black for Harry, final release was at hand and he was grateful; but somewhere he heard a voice that sounded as a scream but seamed quiet and coming from a great distance: "NOOOO, HARRY!!!!!!"  
  
Then Nothing. 


	4. Chapter III

Chapter III  
  
  
  
Slowly, light shone into darkness.  
  
From that light came whispers.  
  
"Bone's healed. but.too long. insanity... little hope. uncle. scar." Blackness again.  
  
*****  
  
Light again.  
  
"How is his pupil dilation?" an unknown voice said.  
  
"No reaction," said a second voice. "I think his mind is gone; how could it not be?"  
  
"Is there no hope then?" a third but strangely familiar voice asked.  
  
A heavy silence.  
  
"I'm sorry Albus, but after such a long period of exposure. He has been under pain levels far beyond Cruciatus and it was not only nerve stimulation but also physical harm. It's a miracle he's still alive. There is no chance. He will never regain his sanity," said the first voice, sadness underlying the professional tone.  
  
What were they talking about?  
  
He was right here.  
  
When he tried to lift his hand nothing happened. What was going on? What had happened?  
  
He couldn't remember. Then realization struck. He couldn't even remember his own name.  
  
Who was he? Frantically he searched his memory, but there was so precious little to go on. WHO WAS HE?  
  
Slowly he became more and more aware of his surroundings as his mind seemed to wake up further. His eyes opened, but it was as if it had nothing to do with him or his body. Even looking through them was as if he was peeking through a window.  
  
He saw two men standing next to his bed with faces that were somewhat sad, but for the most part wore a mask of professionalism. They wore white clothing but they didn't seem to be normal doctor's coats.  
  
At the very end of the bed was an old man. The old man wore a long, white beard and a funny hat. Come to think of it, his clothes were strange too . robes. something whispered in his mind.  
  
Where had that come from? He didn't know - but he knew it to be true; how, he could not say. The experience was somewhat bewildering, but too much else was occupying his mind to give it his attention right now.  
  
"He's fully awake now," said one of the men next to his bed. "Can. you. hear. me.," the man said.  
  
Why was he talking so strangely? He talked as if .. as if. as if he was talking to a small child. When he wanted to answer he found he couldn't.  
  
WHAT IS GOING ON?  
  
His mind reeled and sought a way out, a way out of this prison in his head, but he found nothing but barriers; barriers he couldn't breach, barriers that didn't feel natural.  
  
"No rational response to external stimuli," the second man at the side of his bed said while he was pinching and prodding.  
  
'NO, wait, I'm here. Can't you see I'm here?' he screamed in his mind. Couldn't they see he was right here?  
  
A deep sigh emanated from the old man at the end of the bed, a single tear slowly made its way down his cheek.  
  
"His friends will want to see him no matter what," the old man said with a voice that spoke of strong emotional control.  
  
"In a few days," one of the other men said, "when we're sure he's stable and there are no other symptoms to his condition."  
  
"I'll go break the news then," and with this the old man turned and left the room.  
  
Strangely, he felt a loss. Why? He didn't know that man..  
  
"It would be better for you to sleep now.." Darkness.  
  
*****  
  
Light again.  
  
His eyes slowly opened and once more he underwent the sensation of looking through windows.  
  
There was a man slouched in the chair next to the bed. He was wearing clothes .robes. that had seen better days and his face was gaunt and tired even in sleep, his hair was brown but had specks of grey in it, although the man didn't look old enough to have such hair.  
  
"Remus, he's awake," came a voice from the other side of the bed. His head moved and again he had the feeling that it was through no action of his.  
  
There was a large man with black hair, his face full of worry .he looks ten years older. how did he know this? The man looked tired and his face fallen in as if he hadn't seen a good meal in months. Strangely, the look on his face reminded him of nothing as much as of a sad dog, but there was no reason for this that he could identify.  
  
"Can you hear me, Harry?" the man said.  
  
Harry. Was that his name? He still couldn't remember.  
  
"Harry, look at me. Look at me! Can you hear me?" the man said again, a desperate inflection in his voice. The man looked ready to cry.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sirius, but you know he can't react. There is nothing left to react with," the other man said sadly.  
  
"I WONT BELIEVE THAT," the man called Sirius said in a raised voice.  
  
Sirius? Was that name familiar? It was certainly peculiar. But no.. he just couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember?  
  
"We'd best owl the Weasleys. They'll want to know."  
  
"You do it, Remus. Please? I want to stay here."  
  
"Of course," the brown haired man said and left the room with a hurried step.  
  
He was now alone with the large man.  
  
"I will get you back, Harry, I will." The man said with desperate conviction, as if he was trying to convince himself, rather then convey a message.  
  
Harry, that must be his name; he had heard it twice now.  
  
He felt the sudden urge to comfort this man but still found himself pounding barriers, unable to communicate anything to the outside world.  
  
He wanted to cry, but was denied even that.  
  
*****  
  
Time was a difficult concept, but at what he estimated as a half hour later he heard voices in the hallway, outside of the room he was in.  
  
"I can't Ron, I can't face him," a young, but distinctly feminine voice said, with fear and a little hysteria in it.  
  
"I'll be with you, Hermione; we can do this together," another voice said, this on masculine, but croaked as if not sure of its own sound; a boy in his teens.  
  
A moment of silence and then: "No, I can't, not yet!" then the sound of running footsteps.  
  
A few seconds of silence.  
  
"You go in Ron, see your friend. I'll talk to her." This was the voice of the man that had been in his room previously, the one with the brown and grey hair.  
  
"But.," the boy again.  
  
"Let Remus do it, dear," a motherly voice said. "She needs an adult to talk to right now and you need to see Harry."  
  
A group of red-headed people walked into the room, but they all faded into the background when he saw the lanky, red-headed boy in front.  
  
Pain seared through his head and it felt as if something was throwing itself against the barriers in his mind. both of them, need both of them. it sounded in his head.  
  
His body began to spasm as the pain increased, an involuntary moan escaped from his mouth. .both of them. it now echoed within his mind with even more strength.  
  
"DOCTOR," the large man yelled in a voice that would not have been out of place on a battlefield, "HE'S HAVING A SEIZURE."  
  
Almost immediately two men dressed in white, the same men he had seen earlier, ran in.  
  
"Everyone out" the elder one said in an authoritative voice "NOW."  
  
"But." the large man called Sirius began to say.  
  
"Best to let the doctors do their work," the woman with the motherly voice advised while already guiding Sirius to the exit.  
  
One of the men who had entered the room was holding him down while the other pulled out something that looked like a stick.  
  
"Clear," said the man with the stick and the man holding him let go.  
  
Light shot from the stick and again oblivion came.  
  
  
  
******  
  
Slowly his eyes opened.  
  
He vaguely remembered waking up in this room before, then it came back to him; the red-headed boy and the strange reaction he had when seeing him.  
  
"He's awake again," A voice to his right said. It was the same large man who had been sitting there before.  
  
To his left came a female voice: "Harry, it's me, Hermione."  
  
The statement had something of a question in it; was she expecting him to recognize her or her name? Nothing came to him.  
  
She stepped into his field of vision. She was a pretty girl with long, brown, bushy hear. Her eyes would never be called dull because they shone with a fierce intelligence. Worry was all over her face but her mouth was set in a determined smile. Was the worried look for him?  
  
Why? Did they know each other? Again he couldn't remember and that fact was frustrating him to no end now. What was wrong with him?  
  
"Don't worry Harry, we'll take care of you," the girl with the bushy hair said; what was her name again? "We'll always take care of you." The last part of this sentence was barely more then a sob.  
  
"It's alright, Hermione; it's going to be alright," The man to his right said.  
  
Hermione. he should remember that name but it was so difficult to keep a grasp on these things.  
  
The Bushy haired girl -Hermione, he admonished himself- crawled up onto the bed slightly behind him and held him in her arms; he felt strangely comforted, as if in the embrace of a friend, but he could not remember having experienced this before; even now discomfort was seeping through unknown cracks in his mind. Would he have been uncomfortable with this if he had been in his right mind?  
  
. Need them both..both of them. it once more echoed through his mind, but it was only a weak thing compared to the violence that had battered his mind before. What did this mean? Where did that voice come from? It was so very frustrating.  
  
Slowly he felt his body and mind relax as the girl stroked his forehead and hair soothingly.  
  
"It's going to be alright," she said, pressing her cheek to the back of his head.  
  
As he felt himself drifting of to that state of being that was not quite sleeping, not quite waking there was a white light; it felt familiar, as if he had encountered it before. Slowly the white light engulfed him and he felt totally relaxed. This was not something strange, it was part of him; instinct told him as much.  
  
Slowly sleep overcame him.  
  
******  
  
The next day when he woke there was a red-headed man in the room; he was talking to the large man. The man looked as if he had not slept in a while and had probably been sitting next to the bed all the time.  
  
"Sirius, you need to get some sleep. You can't live like this," the red- headed men said. His looks and voice were reminiscent of the red-headed youth he had seen before. Father and son?  
  
"I need to be here when he comes back to us, I won't let him wake up alone and confused," the man called Sirius said.  
  
"We've given that some thought and have already agreed to that; there should always be someone here, as long as he is here." The last few words carried a sad tone. "But you can't stay here forever; you need to rest, so we've decided to take shifts. One adult, one student at all times. There are already more volunteers then we need; classmates, teachers, nurses in their free time, even complete strangers who want him to have company. We've selected those he already knows so that there's a familiar face in the room at all times."  
  
"Alright," Sirius agreed, sounding defeated and relieved, finally giving into the inevitable, "we'll do it your way, Arthur."  
  
"The first shift will arrive in a few minutes. It's Molly and Ginny." This was the red-headed man again.  
  
"Good," said Sirius, "Could you take me to a bed then?" and he collapsed.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
A few minutes later two red-headed women entered. They were obviously family; probably mother and daughter, judging by their age.  
  
"Harry," the younger of the two said with a sob and ran to the bed.  
  
"Easy dear," the older woman said, holding a restraining hand on the shoulder of the girl, "you know he can't hear you."  
  
'But I can,' he thought. He wanted to say that everything was alright to the girl for she was in obvious distress because of his condition; his hart went out to her.  
  
The woman settled into the chair to his right and the girl in the one to his left. The conversation between the two women was minimal until an argument broke out. By their tone of voice it was an argument they had had before.  
  
"You shouldn't be here, Ginny; it is too much of a burden for you."  
  
"I want to be here mother, Harry needs his friends."  
  
"You're too young to be here."  
  
"No, I am not, mother."  
  
"But why did it have to be this shift? It's late and you need your sleep. You sleep little enough as it is. Why don't you crawl up in that chair and try to sleep a little. I have a blanket for you."  
  
He mentally smiled, for she sounded like the quintessential mother; he hoped his mother was like that. He couldn't remember seeing anyone who acted as his mother though. Was the large man called Sirius his father? Somehow that didn't feel right.  
  
"Maybe later, but not yet," the girl reacted.  
  
The mother kept admonishing her daughter, and she kept replying politely but firmly. He ignored it and let himself float of into the comforting white light.  
  
Sometime later he became aware of his surroundings again. The woman had fallen asleep in her chair, a little drool coming from her mouth.  
  
His head turned to the left, he would probably never get used to the sensation of his own head turning of its own volition, without his intervention.. at least he thought it was without his intervention, and it all felt so uncoordinated.  
  
"Harry?" It was the red-headed girl again. She was quite pretty he realised, and he had a feeling she was just about his age .one year younger. Who or what was that voice? It began to bug him.  
  
"Don't worry Harry, you'll be alright, I . I." what did she want to say?  
  
"I love you." It was barely a whisper.  
  
She what? Loved him? Was she his girlfriend? Somehow he didn't think so. What then?  
  
"I know you don't love me. but that doesn't matter; I will always love you, no matter what. Maybe I can love you enough for the both of us." Tears flowed from the girl's big brown eyes.  
  
He wondered what was, or rather had been, going on between him and this red- headed girl. Ginny? Wasn't that her name, it was all so hard to remember.  
  
"I never did thank you for rescuing me in my first year. So for whatever it's worth now: Thank you." The girl looked like she had more to say, and after a moment she continued. "I could probably never say these things to you if you were awake. I was so stupid back then. I should have known better then to confide in a magic diary, but I was so lonely. Before Hogwarts it was always Ron and me, and the first year that he went away and I had to stay home was very lonely. When I finally went to Hogwarts I thought it would be like it was before, Ron and me, best friends. But he had met you by then. Not that I blame you, far from it. You are probably the best thing that ever happened to Ron; you or Hermione, I'm not sure. Listen to me babbling. But I'm so glad I can finally tell you all these things. I don't know why I never had the nerve to talk to you before. No, that is a lie, I do know. However much you may deny it, you are still THE Harry Potter and I've been in love with you since I was ten," the tone in her voice suddenly changed, anger now predominant, "and you never noticed me". For a moment her eyes had blazed with intensity and then her demeanour and tone of voice returned to normal.  
  
"I know. What does a ten year old girl know of love? But my feelings for you haven't diminished, if anything they have grown stronger. Even now I sometimes catch myself just staring at you. You coming to rescue me in the chamber of secrets was like a fairytale in the middle of a nightmare." On and on the girl talked about her hopes and dreams, her love, her fears, and so many other things.  
  
When she was done the girl sat back in her seat, and after a while she fell asleep. He kept looking at her from the corner of his eyes. She was not only pretty, but sleeping like this, she had an angelic quality. He wished he could reach out to her and stroke her cheek to take away the pain he had seen in her eyes when she had told him she loved him.  
  
  
  
******  
  
  
  
The days went by; he now had some sense of the passing of time by the changing of people at his bed. There was a whole series of redheads. People of his own age who talked to him about school and a game called Quiditch. Older people who sometimes told him they were looking forward to teaching him again, just as soon as he woke up. A man dressed al in black who sneered at everyone that came near him; this man told him to 'wake up and get back to annoying me' in a tone that was either very angry or very well acted. He got better at observing and analyzing people, he had little else to do.  
  
The people who were most at his bed were the big man with black hair and the 'dog-eyes' as he was now calling them, the bushy haired girl and the redheaded youth that had instigated his violent reaction. Sometimes the bushy haired girl would be there, or the red-headed youth and from the depths of his mind would come that now familiar voice .both of them. but they were never in his room together. He was scared and anxious, but also longing for the moment that would happen.  
  
Having nothing to do except look at people while lying there, he explored the depths of his mind and that white light he found there - by now it was something truly familiar to him.  
  
He didn't feel that he was a great philosopher under normal circumstances, but not being able to do anything with his body, introspective was forced upon him. It was rather sad that he had no memory of his previous life and therefore had nothing to base anything on except that which he observed.  
  
He was obviously in possession of several mental scars; his reaction to several names he heard in conversations made that clear. The most prominent were: Vernon, Cedric and 'You Know Who' or 'He Who Must Not Be Named'. Those last two were the same person, he concluded. Ridiculous not naming someone, was his first thought. But it didn't matter what he thought, for he could not tell anyone.  
  
The white light continued to elude him, sometimes he tried to grasp it simply to have something to do, but it was all to no avail, he could only drift away in it. He still had the distinct feeling it was part of him.  
  
He noticed that the light reacted to his emotions. If he was angry it stirred like it had more energy; when he was calm it was like a sea of tranquillity he could bathe in, staying there for hours; when he felt gratitude and perhaps even love for the people who stayed with him it shone like a bright beacon - this was especially true when either the bushy haired girl or the red-headed boy where in his room. Other people created other, lower levels of intensity.  
  
Curious, what did it mean? ******  
  
  
  
"He's seems to have grown so much in the time he's been there. How is that, I wonder?"  
  
"It's the potions they give him to restore his body. They also counteract some of the effects and consequences of malnutrition. He probably hadn't had a decent meal in his live - before he came to Hogwarts, anyway. Poor boy."  
  
He was fully awake now. Malnutrition?  
  
"His birthday is in two days."  
  
"I know, Sirius." It was the motherly woman.  
  
"You know I believe he can hear us, so I think you'll understand this.. I want to give him a birthday party." This was the large man.  
  
Strangled sounds drifted towards his ears. "Molly? . Molly, are you crying?"  
  
"I can't help it, it's just that I know he's never had a real birthday party and now he won't be able to fully enjoy it.." the woman sobbed.  
  
He had never had a birthday party before? That would explain a few of those mental scars. If he had been able, he probably would have snorted.  
  
"I'll bake a cake tomorrow and tell the rest to be here, just close friends I think." The woman made a clear effort to sound cheery.  
  
His head had now turned towards the two.  
  
"Yes, just close friends.. AND NO BLOODY REPORTERS." The large man .Sirius, he had to remember that name. looked as if he was yelling at the world in general. Did he think the world could hear him?  
  
"Are they still camping in the lobby?" The woman asked.  
  
"Yes. And yesterday we found another listening device in this very room. That's five in this room so far, four in the doctor's lounge and two in the nurse's station. Those reporters just won't give up. The Boy Who Lived in the hospital is big news."  
  
The Boy Who Lived? What kind of ridiculous name was that?  
  
"Don't worry, just close friends. See you then Sirius." With that the woman left.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Two days later, at least he thought it probably was two days later, his room started filling with people who all told him: "Happy birthday, Harry."  
  
The large man called Sirius was there, the gaunt man who was his friend, the old man with the long beard who was there when he had first woken up, and others who had sat at his bed.  
  
They all brought him gifts that were deposited on a table brought in for that purpose.  
  
The woman he considered so motherly walked in with two young men who were clearly her sons. Both had red hair and reminded him of the boy who always brought a reaction from the voice in his head. They were carrying a chocolate cake of immense proportions . yummy, chocolate, my favourite. Was chocolate his favourite? It probably was.  
  
Then followed the girl who had told him. what had she told him? It was so hard to remember things.  
  
Two red-headed boys who looked exactly alike right down to their very mischievous grins came in next, together with another redhead, this one seeming oddly formal.  
  
Then the red-headed youth who had provoked such a strong reaction entered the room. .both of them.  
  
They all came to his bed and wished him a happy birthday.  
  
He wished he could thank them, for the attention they gave him was warming him on the inside. He thought he would have cried and laughed at the same time if he had been able to.  
  
The red-headed youth stood beside his bed and looked at him: "come back to us mate, we miss you." .both of them. it was now so normal to hear this voice that he didn't give it a second thought.  
  
At that moment the bushy haired girl walked in.  
  
Pain exploded in his head. He could feel something reeling in his mind with the power of a small thunderstorm and this time he could feel the barriers giving way. With all the force he could muster, he threw himself against the barriers in his head. The white light suddenly came roaring from the depths of his mind, helping him. He felt the barriers getting weaker, crumbling before the combined strength of his mind and the white light.  
  
The girl came to his bed and hugged him: "Happy birthday Harry, we love you."  
  
HARRY, HIS NAME WAS HARRY POTTER.  
  
He was sure of it now. He felt the final barriers give way and memories came flooding back to him.  
  
Who he was; what he was; who these people were; what they meant to him. He was aware of his body in a way that he had not been for a long time.  
  
"Thank you, Hermione." He whispered with a croaked voice. 


	5. Chapter IV

Chapter IV  
  
"Harry? HARRY?" Hermione almost screamed.  
  
"Calm down Hermione, what's wrong?" Mrs. Weasley asked, thinking the poor girl had finally cracked under the stress of the past days.  
  
"It's Harry, he spoke," Hermione said in a still excited, squealing voice. She was almost smothering Harry whom she had not let go.  
  
"Now calm down, dear; I'm sure if you have a seat and maybe a glass of water."  
  
"No, mum, I thought I heard him too," Ron said, his voice shaking, his eyes staring towards Harry and Hermione in disbelief.  
  
All eyes were now turned to Harry. "Hello everyone," he whispered raggedly over Hermione's shoulder.  
  
Absolute chaos ensued.  
  
It was as if a volcano of voices erupted and all the questions that were asked or even shouted came down to one thing: How?  
  
"SILENCE." Professor Dumbledore seldom raised his voice and when he did it worked; the room went silent.  
  
"I think the appropriate thing to say first is: Welcome back, Mister Potter. The second thing is perhaps: how did you come back to us?" the ancient wizard said with a look on his face that conveyed a multitude of emotions: happiness, relief, disbelief and calculation. Harry thought that not so long ago he would have missed this last aspect, for it was very well hidden; but then again, a lot had changed since then.  
  
At that moment two doctors came running, having been alerted by the nurses who had heard the yelling. When they saw that Harry was coherent their eyes widened to the size of saucers.  
  
"How..?" they stuttered almost in unison. After a few seconds of pure amazement their training took over: "Everyone out, we have to examine him," The eldest all but yelled.  
  
"I'm not leaving," Hermione announced in a voice that said she wasn't budging, she was now hugging Harry.  
  
"Me neither," Ron said with the same conviction.  
  
The doctors knew who the two were and didn't want to waste the energy, or especially the time of a discussion.  
  
"Alright, but everyone else leaves," the senior doctor conceded.  
  
Slowly the room emptied until only Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, the two doctors and of course Harry remained.  
  
The doctors didn't say anything about Sirius and Professor Dumbledore but set straight to work.  
  
Harry was poked and prodded all over his body, bright lights were shone into his eyes and all kinds of questions were asked.  
  
The questions were varied: "What is your name?" "Do you know who you are?" "How much is two plus two?" "What is the basic levitating spell?" "How did you regain your coherency?" and so on. A lot of the questions came down to: how is it you're not absolutely bonkers, and are you absolutely sure you aren't?  
  
Harry answered all their questions as precisely as he could, except those that were about his miraculous recovery. he wasn't ready to share that. He wasn't even too sure about it himself.  
  
The Doctors, however, persisted and started to ask questions about what had exactly happened to him. These Questions only served to bring forth the memory of what Vernon had done to him, the pain he had inflicted, the indignity of it all. Hate came with this memory; hot, burning hate.  
  
It must have shown on his face because Hermione looked at him worriedly: "Are you alright, Harry?" she asked in a small voice.  
  
The hate throbbed in his veins, flowing like poison. Vernon Dursley, the pain, the humiliation.  
  
Suddenly all the glass in the room shattered with a loud crack. Harry felt some of the anger flow away, but not all of it, and that which he had lost quickly regenerated.  
  
"You must calm down, Mister Potter.Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore said in a soothing voice. The venerable headmaster fixed Harry with his intense light blue eyes and for a moment Harry saw something flash in those bright eyes. Harry felt his anger just slip away. He didn't think this had happened naturally; someone must have used magic. Dumbledore.  
  
After it was apparent that Harry was calm again, Dumbledore took out his wand and made a broad, sweeping gesture around the room and muttered "reparo," under his breath. As in a film running backwards, every destroyed object in the room returned to its original form; the glass from the windows that had blown outwards into a small, deserted park flew back up and the windows were restored.  
  
"He. . seems fine, physically," the younger doctor concluded, unaware of what had passed between headmaster and student, "but we don't understand how, we have to run tests, we have to find out. This could be a breakthrough for."  
  
"Yes gentleman, but for now I think Harry needs some time with his friends." Dumbledore gently ushered the doctors to the door.  
  
"But.."  
  
A low growl came from Sirius' throat. That or the anger that flashed in Dumbledore's eyes convinced both men it was a good idea to leave.  
  
"Not too many visitors at once," one of them managed to say before exiting the room.  
  
"Harry." Hermione whispered, still a little dazed.  
  
"It's good to have you back, mate - and just in time for your birthday, too; great timing."  
  
"RON..," Hermione squealed indignantly.  
  
Still the same old Ron and Hermione - Harry had to smile.  
  
"It's good to be back," he whispered. His throat was as dry as parchment. "Water, please." He had wanted water almost as soon as he could talk but hadn't had the chance to ask because of all the questions thrown at him.  
  
The request was barely audible as his voice gave out. Sirius immediately ran to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water. Harry tried to lift his arm to take it from him but found he was too weak to do so.  
  
"Here, let me help you." Ever so gently, Sirius lifted him up and brought the glass to his mouth. Harry took a sip of water. Swallowing hurt his throat but at the same time the water felt like absolute heaven.  
  
"More.."  
  
"Just a little, you haven't had anything to eat or drink in a while and until your system gets used to it again, you'll have to be careful." Sirius gave him another sip and then laid him back on his pillows.  
  
"Do. Do you remember what happened. before.?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I remember it all, every second of it. Everything Vernon did," Harry said, the hate returning to his blood, making it boil.  
  
Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes: "Do you remember lying here? In the hospital?"  
  
"Some of it, it's a bit vague, but Sirius was right, I heard and saw everything; I just can't remember it all just now, only bits and pieces. I had no memory of anything while I was lying here, and remembering anything new was hard. I didn't even know who you all were." His voice was coming back now; stronger because of the water and the use.  
  
Hermione was now crying without restraint, so was Sirius. Ron looked as if he was struggling to control himself; Dumbledore had a sad look upon his face.  
  
"I think it would be best to rest now for awhile, Mister Potter, and then tell us the whole story." Harry gratefully closed his eyes; there was so much to process, so many memories.  
  
He felt someone climbing up on his bed and arms being wrapped around him from behind; it was Hermione and just as she had done when he had had no memory, she stroked his forehead: "Sleep, Harry, sleep."  
  
*****  
  
Sometime later he woke up.  
  
One of the doctors was standing next to his bed, wand in hand.  
  
He was moving it up and down Harry's body just a few centimetres above it. It was emitting light at the tip. As he moved his wand, the light sometimes changed.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Potter, you're awake. I'm happy to report that physically you are in good condition. You will find that your muscles will work better as time passes. The weakness you experienced was apparently a side effect of your condition, which we for now are terming as 'mind-body disconnection'. We're not sure how this happened, but be assured that we will find out. You should have basic use of your muscles already. "  
  
The prospect of the tests that would be 'necessary' filled Harry with horror.  
  
The Doctor continued, "I'll leave you alone for now. There are several people who want to talk to you, and the press would also like a statement from you."  
  
"The press?" Harry squeaked.  
  
"Yes Mr. Potter, they have been camped out in the hospital's lobby since you arrived here. The whole wizarding world has been following your condition. If you wish, the hospital could make a statement on your behalf."  
  
"NO. no, no statement. Maybe later," Harry said so fast it was blur.  
  
"Very well Mr. Potter, I'll leave you to your friends now." The doctor looked clearly disappointed; maybe he was the one who would have made the statement?  
  
******  
  
After the doctor's departure Harry tried to get up and found that he could take a few tentative steps. Slowly he made his way towards the bathroom. His bladder felt as if he hadn't been there in ages. Suddenly he realised this was probably true.  
  
When he was returning to his bed Sirius, Remus, Professor Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron and the other Weasleys walked in.  
  
"HARRY, you shouldn't be out of bed," Mrs. Weasley bristled, immediately stepping forward to support him and help him into bed.  
  
"Men are all the same. They don't see what's good for them, and who has to pick up the pieces? A woman, of course. I pity the woman who ends up with you." During her monologue Mrs. Weasley's tone changed and it was clear that her last words were more teasing then chiding. At least. Harry thought so?  
  
"How are you doing, dear? Have you eaten yet?" Mrs. Weasley was full of motherly concern as always.  
  
"Mum, you know he isn't supposed to have any solid food for awhile yet," Percy said in a pompous voice. "It's good to see you again Harry." And with that Percy took Harry's hand and shook it formally. Once again it was good for Harry to see that some things never changed.  
  
"Hello Harry" Ginny said and immediately blushed.  
  
Harry vaguely remembered seeing her during the period he had no memories or control of his body, but apart from a gnawing sensation that there had been more, he had no other memories of it. "Hi, Gin."  
  
Bill and Charlie just gave him big grins.  
  
Sirius had a look on his face that spoke of a war between worry for Harry and the obligation to stay with him, and anger and the desire to visit a lot of physical harm on Vernon Dursley. Worry and obligation were winning. for now. Remus did not look much different except for the occasional worried look for his friend, Padfoot.  
  
Apparently the rest of the party guests had been sent home.  
  
Professor Dumbledore took the chair to Harry's left. "Are you ready to tell us a bit more of what happened, Mr. Potter? We would especially like to hear about your remarkable recovery." The headmaster had the spark in his eyes back.  
  
Everyone took a seat after several chairs were conjured up by the adult wizards.  
  
Feeling a bit embarrassed for being the centre of attention, Harry started to recount the events as they had developed after he had left his friends at platform 9 3/4.  
  
When he told about Vernon's reaction after receiving the letter recounting the tale of Cedric's death, Dumbledore looked sad and somewhat guilty, knowing that this had been an important catalyst for the terrible events on Privet Drive.  
  
After he told about the first time Vernon had hit him, Mrs. Weasley had a shocked look upon her face, as if she had not known something like this had happened.  
  
Slowly, Harry told of the many beatings he had received, feeling somehow compelled to describe them in detail.  
  
Next he described how Vernon had begun to use other means to hurt him, how Vernon liked to break his ribs because they caused him even more pain while breathing. Mrs. Weasley had to be taken from the room by Bill after that, crying about what had been done to 'the poor boy'.  
  
When Harry told about the use of his own wand as a torture device, the amount of pain it inflicted, both Ginny and Hermione were crying openly.  
  
For a moment Harry faltered, his breathing ragged, but he did not stop there. He felt a strange calm come over him that was disturbed only seldom and then only marginally; there was no anger, pain or any other emotion after that. He felt a strange distance between him and the story he was telling. He suspected that once more someone was using magic to keep him calm.  
  
As he described how Vernon found out how to inflict different degrees of pain in various part of his body, Ron suddenly lunged for a waste paper basket and vomited. "Sorry." he said in a small voice.  
  
Harry continued the story now feeling the urge to finish it before he was unable to, emotions seeping through whatever barrier they had been hidden behind.  
  
Finally he told the about the last day, how he was too weak to do anything and what Vernon had done then: "He put my wand against my scar and whispered 'pain' again." Harry fell quiet for a moment.  
  
When he continued his voice was ragged and faltered over every few words. "It was like nothing I had felt before. The pain was just too much and I felt the life leaving me, as if my very soul was torn from me. Darkness swallowed me up and the only thing I remember is a voice yelling my name... It sounded a million miles away, yelling but whispering at the same time."  
  
Silence filled the room now that his story had ended.  
  
"That was me," said Remus in a soft voice. "That voice was me. Ron had owled Sirius and me several times. He said he was worried about not hearing from you. I was supposed to check on you a week earlier but. something interfered. I'm so very, very sorry." The guilt was heavy in his voice.  
  
"It's not your fault, Professor Lupin. Really."  
  
"Thank you, Harry." But somehow the former professor did not look convinced.  
  
Lupin continued: "The fireplace in your house was connected to the floo system so I could travel in and out to check on you. When I arrived. well you just told us what was going on. I immediately tied up Dursley and..."  
  
"You should have killed him," growled Sirius, interrupting his friend.  
  
"Maybe, but I didn't. Anyway, I used the fireplace in the living room to contact St. Mungo's and then Hogwarts. The wards were immediately lifted and several Doctors apparated to Privet Drive. It was touch and go for a while, but finally they stabilized you enough to bring you here. After they treated your injuries, you didn't come to; they concluded that your. mind was gone. You had signs of prolonged exposure to magical torture and." Remus' voice trailed off, the look in his eyes forlorn.  
  
"Yes, that poses an interesting question Remus," Professor Dumbledore said, "Do you know how you kept your mind intact and came back to us at that particular moment, Mr. Potter?"  
  
At that moment Harry realized he had not told about the separate space he had created in his mind. Why hadn't he? Even now he felt reluctant to tell this to everyone.  
  
He trusted the people here but he just didn't want to tell them, not yet, not before he, himself, better understood what he had done. "No, I have no idea," Harry said in an unsure voice.  
  
Dumbledore looked him straight in the eye and Harry felt. no, he knew that the headmaster was aware of the lie. "That quite alright, maybe you'll remember later, my boy." Apparently Dumbledore was willing to let the deception stand, for now.  
  
Feeling that Harry did not want to continue, the rest of the afternoon was filled with chitchat clearly meant to put Harry at ease.  
  
"You've grown Ron." Harry said at sometime during the conversation.  
  
"You think I've grown? You're in for a bit of a shocker, mate; wait till you see a mirror." Ron replied with a big grin. What did Ron mean by this Harry wondered. Oh well, it was probably nothing.  
  
"Uhm, Professor?" Harry directed at Dumbledore.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"The doctor said something about reporters and a statement.."  
  
"Don't worry Mr. Potter, I will take care of that if you wish me to," the headmaster said with an understanding grin.  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
Suddenly it dawned on him: "Sirius, what the hell are you doing here? You'll get caught. We have to get you."  
  
"Don't worry Harry," Sirius interrupted. "This ward has been closed off from the public. The only outsiders that know I'm here are the two doctors and four nurses that work here. They know about my innocence and are friends; actually they are members of." Suddenly Remus Lupin coughed loudly.  
  
"Are you alright, Professor?" Hermione asked worriedly.  
  
"Not to worry, quite alright. And you, Ron and Harry really should call me Remus. I'm not a professor anymore."  
  
Hermione blushed furiously at this suggestion. "Of course.. Remus," she said shyly.  
  
The rest of the conversation was filled with talk of the holidays until one of the nurses walked in and announced that 'Mr. Potter needed his rest and they should all leave' her tone brooked no insolence and everyone complied after saying goodbye.  
  
One by one they all left, but when Professor Dumbledore was about to leave, Harry asked him to stay for a little while more.  
  
"Of course, Harry."  
  
******  
  
When everyone else had left he looked at Harry with a small twinkling in his eyes. "I imagine you have many questions Harry. go ahead, ask them."  
  
"You know I haven't told you everything, don't you?" Harry began.  
  
Dumbledore held up his hand and interrupted Harry: "It is your story to tell, Harry, and I trust you will do so in due time. But I'm sure you have other questions."  
  
"Before I tell you the whole story, and I will tell it, I do have a few questions, starting with Vernon. What has been done with him and how was he able to use my wand? He's a Muggle, isn't he?"  
  
"To understand the answer to your first question, you must first know the answer to your second question. Vernon Dursley was able to use your wand because he is an Adept." Dumbledore quickly continued, anticipating Harry's next question.  
  
"What is an Adept, you surely wonder? An Adept is basically not a wizard, not a Muggle but something in between although, much closer to a Muggle. An Adept has one or two particular talents in magic, something to strengthen more mundane abilities. What we usually see is a physical adept. This is a person who can perform physical feats, feats that are impossible for ordinary Muggles. They are the world's greatest athletes or the people whom you read about in the newspaper; they perform feats of strength thought to be impossible for them; usually to save a fellow human being, in anger or under other extreme circumstances. What all these people have in common is that they have a tiny spark of magic in them that lends them those abilities. In Vernon Dursley's case. well he is not a physical adept, he is rather more unique. He has a gift that is more magically inclined; his gifts run towards pain." Here Dumbledore paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts, and then continued.  
  
"He was able to use a wand, your wand, for one purpose and one purpose only: to inflict pain. This talent also came with an instinctive knowledge how to best use this ability and the need to do so. Unfortunately, there is no way to discover these individuals; the spark of magic in them is just too small and what they do isn't really cast spells so we can't detect it." Dumbledore had a very sad look on his face, the twinkling was gone.  
  
"And what has been done with him?" Harry asked in a quiet voice.  
  
"He has been taken into custody by the Ministry of Magic and will be tried according to wizard law as the crime was committed, at least in part, by magic."  
  
Dumbledore's expression turned even graver.  
  
"I had wanted to spare you this news for a little while longer. but since we are now on the subject. the trial is in one week and now that you are back with us, you will be expected to attend and testify."  
  
Harry was silent for awhile taking in this news. Thoughts ran through his head; facing Vernon, punishing him, the gleeful face that had tormented him, revenge.  
  
"I want to be there, I want to see Vernon punished for what he has done to me. Make sure that he is unable to do it to anyone else," Harry said in a vengeful tone.  
  
Again Harry felt his anger and hate rise and again it suddenly seemed to just seep away.  
  
He looked at Dumbledore sharply and asked: "Are you using magic to keep me calm, Professor?"  
  
"Yes Harry, I am. I have very little choice in the matter as you have displayed several acts of accidental magic already, some of which you might not even be aware of. I already suspect what has happened to you, but I have to hear it in your own words. Would you tell me what happened? How did you keep your persona intact?"  
  
Harry didn't say anything for awhile and then suddenly said, "I left a few things out of my story. a few things I want no one to know. But if I have to tell someone, I guess it would best be you, Professor. What I didn't tell was that the pain wasn't the worst thing about the. entire experience. It was what I felt I would have done to stop the pain."  
  
Harry fell silent again. Dumbledore seemed to be content to let him take his own time. Abruptly Harry started talking, his voice full of emotion.  
  
"I would have done anything to stop the pain. I would have crawled, begged, lied. anything. I would have stolen, maimed, even killed. Anything that Vernon wanted." Slowly tears began to stream from Harry's eyes while they stared off into oblivion.  
  
The worst thing was that I felt that if the pain would continue much longer, I would kill even those close to me, to end it.. even Ron. Hermione. Sirius... you." Harry's voice was now no more than a whisper; his eyes didn't see what was before him but saw all that Vernon Dursley had done to him.  
  
"I felt I would lose myself, go crazy if it were to continue, and I was afraid that I might actually do all those things; so with everything I had left, I. parted my mind, I have no better way to describe it. In that separate part of me, that secure holding, I put everything that was important to me, including my love for my friends, my memories and feeling of Hogwarts, the few things I know about my parents; everything I felt as good in my live and everything I felt was important in my life. Those things I locked away, no one would be able to touch them. the rest I sacrificed."  
  
After a while Dumbledore said in quiet but strong voice: "I have to ask Harry, did you put your magic there as well?"  
  
"Yes," Harry replied with a hoarse voice, "that is one of the things I value most in my life, it is what makes me more than useless, not like the Dursleys always said. It was what first took me away from them. Through it I met everyone who is dear to me and. and it allowed me to see my parents." Whatever restraint Harry had had left, be it of himself or given to him, was now gone and the tears flowed freely from his eyes; eyes that had seen too much.  
  
"Remember Harry, that you have friends that love you, and not because of your magic," Dumbledore replied in a kind voice. "I am sorry you had to relive those memories twice today, but it was necessary. both for me to know and for you to tell."  
  
"So many memories," Harry whispered, his voice ragged, his face now as white as the sheet of his bed, "so many things I want to forget."  
  
"Sleep for now Harry, so you may forget for a little while. I will make the sleep dreamless, I promise."  
  
Gently and with a paternal smile, Dumbledore pulled up the blankets and tucked in Harry. "Sleep, my boy, sleep."  
  
Exhausted by what he had had to relive that day and with a little help from Dumbledore, Harry slept. No dreams troubled him, as promised. 


	6. Chapter V

Chapter V  
  
When Harry woke up once more there was no one in his room, at least no one he knew. There was a nurse tidying up though. She was a woman of average height. She possessed a pretty face full freckles, and red hair. Weasley red. As she walked around the room, straightening this, picking up that, she was humming a merry tune until she saw Harry was awake.  
  
"Ah, you're awake, Mr. Potter. Good. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you? By the way, your godfather is in the next room taking a nap. If you want I can go wake him up? Or would you like some breakfast? The house elves make a smashing good mushroom-omelette if you like." The woman was a virtual waterfall of questions.  
  
"Breakfast," Harry said, "I'm starving."  
  
"A very good sign of recovery, a healthy appetite is. I'll get you some immediately. By the way, my name is Maddy Weasley. I'm a niece of the family you know, but I guess the hair gave it a way, ay? But look at me talking away, while I should be getting you some breakfast. Would you like me to wake Sirius as well?"  
  
"No, just breakfast for now," Harry replied, a little overwhelmed by the continuing onslaught of words, "let Sirius sleep some more, he looked like he needed it yesterday." Harry also felt he needed some time for himself; to compose himself for the things to come.  
  
"You're right about that Mr. Potter, he looks tired. A handsome man he is, but too little sleep and too little to eat. It's to be expected under his circumstances, terrible thing that; but still it's nothing a good woman can't fix." She had a mischievous grin while saying that and Harry couldn't help but smile back at her for her last remark.  
  
"Please, call me Harry; Mr. Potter reminds me of my professors."  
  
"Sure thing Harry, your breakfast will be here shortly."  
  
After Maddy left nothing happened for a few minutes, until there was a loud pop beside his bed. There were two house-elves with eyes as big as saucers looking at him. They were holding a large tray with all kinds of food. They didn't move until one of them seemed to snap out of its trance like stare and said, with reverence in his squeaky voice: "Yous really be Mr. Harry Potter Sir? It really be yous?"  
  
With not a little discomfort Harry answered: "Yes, I'm Harry."  
  
"Such an honour it is for us to meet yous, Mr. Potter Sir. You be the great light that brightened the world after the dark days. I be Dinky and this be Zonky. We is having your breakfast with us." With that they levitated the tray up to Harry's bed were it rested on a specially attached pedestal.  
  
"Thank you both," Harry said kindly, "I am really hungry."  
  
"Our great honour to serve the great Mr. Harry Potter Sir," the second house-elf peeped, and with that they disappeared again with a pop.  
  
Feeling a little odd after experiencing the House-elves' open adulation, Harry turned his mind to breakfast.  
  
On his tray Harry found a variety of food and drink, he tried a little of everything. The nurse, Maddy, had been right; the mushroom-omelette was delicious.  
  
On the tray was also a newspaper, The Daily Prophet.  
  
BOY WHO LIVED AWAKENS ON BIRTHDAY  
  
Has Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, pulled off another miracle? At a small party in honour of his birthday, Harry Potter came out of his coma. In a statement made in the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital, Professor Albus Dumbledore stated that The Boy Who Lived has made a remarkable recovery with no apparent after effects from the torture inflicted by his uncle, Vernon D. Vernon D. turned out to be one of those rare Adepts whose talents are actually magical. Even before Vernon D. acquired Mr. Potter's wand, he had already begun a regimen of torture by Muggle means at the start of the summer holidays.  
  
Mr. Potter was in the care of Vernon D. and family since they are his last living relatives. This newspaper, however, questions the wisdom of letting Mr. Potter stay with these Muggles as we have uncovered evidence of prior mistreatment, including malnutrition, incarceration and mental abuse. How was it possible that the signals were not heeded previously?  
  
Vernon D. will be tried at a Ministry court in six days time as the crime was committed by magic. In all probability, Mr. Potter will be obligated to attend this trial as it is required by law that the victim is present if possible. Rumours also have it that Mr. Potter will replace Remus Lupin, known werewolf, as the main witness.  
  
In conclusion, this newspaper calls upon the Ministry to launch a full inquiry into why Mr. Potter was left in the care of a barbarian. Furthermore, this newspaper wonders if the penalty for this heinous crime should not be elevated to a Dementor's Kiss. And last but most surely not least, this newspaper extends its well wishes to Harry Potter and hopes that all the prayers of our readers are with him in this most difficult of times.  
  
Adelia Socks- Chief Editor  
  
Page 2- All the details of the trials arrangements Page 2- The full story - What really happened at 4 Privet Drive Page 4- Is Harry Potter truly sane? by Rita Skeeter Page 5- Adepts, what are they? by George Theoricetius Page 8- Vernon D. a personal history by Rita Skeeter  
When Harry looked up from the newspaper, still seething with anger about the details from his ordeal in print, he saw that all the plates on the tray had cracked in half.  
  
At that moment Maddy Weasley came storming in: "Oh no, you shouldn't have seen that just yet. Any aggravation now would be bad for you. The house- elves must have missed that memo."  
  
"What do you mean bad for me? You mean I shouldn't get upset, don't you? And let me guess, it was Dumbledore who told you so, wasn't it?" Harry's voice was getting louder and louder as he spoke. "Why is it that I shouldn't get angry? TELL ME."  
  
"Calm down, Mr. Potter," said the serene voice of Albus Dumbledore, who had just walked into the room. "Don't you see what you are doing? You are scaring Maddy. And you are doing a great deal of accidental magic."  
  
Dumbledore was right. Every glass, pitcher, plate and mug in the room had shattered by now. The knives, forks and spoons on the plate had been bent and several objects such as books and scrolls were flying through the room in circles.  
  
"Calm down, Mr. Potter. All will be explained in due time."  
  
Harry felt all his anger leave him, it just flowed into nothingness. The flying objects gently descended to the Floor.  
  
"You're doing it again, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I am using magic to drain your anger. It is, unfortunately, necessary.  
  
I have spoken to the doctors and although they are desperate to find out how you survived and kept sane, they have no other reason to keep you here, you are physically healthy. If I were you I would not give them cause to keep you here for reasons of. mental instability."  
  
Harry realized the truth of Dumbledore's words and looked like nothing more than a scolded little boy.  
  
"I'm sorry, Maddy; I didn't mean to yell at you. sorry, Professor," he said in an apologetic tone of voice, staring at his hand which he had folded in his lap.  
  
"Quite alright Harry, you've been through a lot and I understand your. distress," Maddy said with a soothing voice. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." And with a wink at Harry she took the tray and left.  
  
As if nothing had happened Dumbledore continued in a lighter voice.  
  
"I have arranged for you to stay at the Burrow for the remainder of the summer. I have placed several 'special' wards there."  
  
Harry felt himself fill up with joy. "Really? The Burrow, with Ron?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Potter, and as I understand it, Miss Granger has decided to cancel her trip to Bulgaria and stay with you at the Burrow."  
  
If a mirror had been present Harry would have seen that his eyes shone with a definite magical quality. It was as if a light shone in them. Dumbledore saw this and was pleased that Harry was still able to feel the emotion of joy. It was a good sign, he thought. 


	7. Chapter VI

Chapter VI  
  
Sirius walked in on the last of Harry's conversation with Dumbledore.  
  
"I will be at the Burrow one day before the trial to discuss a few things with you, Mr. Potter. And on the day of the trial, I will personally escort you there," were professor Dumbledore's last words.  
  
"Ah, Sirius. have you made all the arrangements?"  
  
"Everything has been taken care of, Professor. Harry will travel to the Burrow by Ministry car as the Floo system has been taken off line there for security reasons."  
  
Sirius turned to Harry.  
  
"However, Harry, this means you will have to go outside this sealed off ward. You should be prepared to meet several people on your way, maybe even reporters. Can you handle that?"  
  
Harry nodded, a bit weary.  
  
"There are some clothes in the bathroom, I suggest you take a shower and get dressed. Arthur will be here shortly to escort you."  
  
"Al right, Sirius. Are you coming to the Burrow as well? And is Ron coming with Mr. Weasley?"  
  
'No Harry, I'm not coming to the Burrow, however much I would want to, it just wouldn't be safe. I'm going to lay low someplace for a while, better you don't know where. And no, Ron isn't coming to pick you up. It would have been too conspicuous, those reporters outside would have seen him and made the connection instantly. Now go take your shower," Sirius said and gently nudged Harry towards the bathroom.  
  
The bathroom was a standard affair, but it had a nice shower. Still sore from lying still for an extended period of time, Harry turned the warm water on all the way and stepped under it; he did not feel the need to add any cold water.  
  
After taking a luxurious shower, Harry dried himself off and went looking for the promised clothes. He found a pair of khaki pants and a black sweater, boxers, socks, a T- shirt and a pair of shining black shoes. They seemed a bit large, but they fitted perfectly, maybe it was some kind of charm?  
  
When he went to the mirror he couldn't see himself, it was all fogged over.  
  
"I'm sorry dear, but I can't see you, to much mist in the air; you took such a hot shower," the mirror said.  
  
Oh well, there was no use in using a mirror anyway, he never could get his hair to do what he wanted.  
  
*****  
  
When he came out of the bathroom Sirius just stared at him. Mr. Weasley, who was standing next to him, had a bit of a surprised look about him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Uhm, it's just that you remind me of your father a bit more every day." Sirius said with something like wonder in his voice.  
  
How was it that Sirius didn't seem as big to Harry as he used to? Oh well, it was probably just in his head.  
  
"We're leaving the hospital through the back; there's a car waiting for you there. Let's go."  
  
After saying goodbye to the doctors and nurses at the exit of the ward (which was accompanied with lots of admonishments like "be sure to get a lot of rest" and "remember to take the potions we've packed for you" and a promise from one of the doctors to come check up on him) Sirius left Harry in Mr. Weasley's hands, transformed into his dog-form and with one final bark goodbye ran through a different door.  
  
Mr. Weasley and Harry headed to the back exit. While making small talk with Harry, Mr. Weasley kept a high pace as if he was trying to avoid being stopped.  
  
This, however, turned out to be futile; at every corner they ran into patients and staff alike, and they all had to shake Harry's hand and wish him good luck or good health.  
  
"Good to have you back, Mr. Potter." "Terrible thing, what happened to you, Mr. Potter." "I hope the person that did it rots in Azkaban, Mr. Potter." "All the best dearie, my prayers are with you." "It's a shame I wasn't called in on your case, Mr. Potter. I'm sure I would have had you up and about much sooner. You see I've developed this potion that." "Good luck, Harry. All the best." "So good to see you all better, Mr. Potter." "Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."  
  
"Who are all those people Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked in wonder. "Do I know them?"  
  
Mr. Weasley had a slight blush when he explained: "You see, Harry, when the news of your condition got out, to the general public I mean, there was a surge of support, and when you made your recovery there was something of a national party. I'm afraid your fame and popularity have once more skyrocketed. There was even talk of a 'Harry Potter Health Foundation' to pay for your medical bills, but that idea was nipped in the bud by Professor Dumbledore."  
  
Harry could do nothing more than groan, he didn't like the attention that came with his fame.  
  
When they arrived at the backdoor, there were several large wizards waiting for them, Harry looked at Mr. Weasley questioningly.  
  
"These are the hospital's security wizards, Harry. They've had a busy time because of the reporters that have been hanging around here. They're here to make sure no reporters prevent us from getting to the car, although your departure has been kept secret."  
  
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," Harry said, embarrassed.  
  
"No problem, Mr. Potter," said the senior security wizard. "It is, after all, our job. To be quite honest, I haven't had this much fun since I retired from the hit wizard squad. There's nothing like bugging a few reporters." He had a big smirk on his face; Harry felt he was smiling himself.  
  
"When we open this door the car will be about 10 meters away. There are a few reporters there, but they're all juniors, they've been placed there just in case. They shouldn't give us any trouble, probably shout a few questions. Just ignore them. Ready?"  
  
Harry nodded to the security wizards and they opened the door. As he walked out of the door preceded by some of the security wizards, several of the reporters spotted him.  
  
"Mr. Potter, a few questions, please?" "Mr. Potter, how do you feel?" "Harry, do you hate your uncle?"  
  
More reporters Apparated in.  
  
"Mr. Potter, is it true you will be seeking compensation from the Ministry for making you stay with your relatives?" "Harry, is it true you're in love with Hermione Granger? "Harry, are the rumours that you are Albus Dumbledore's secret great- grandson true?" "Mr. Potter, will you be seeking personal revenge against Vernon Dursley?" "Mr. Potter, is Vernon Dursley a henchman of Sirius Black?" "Mr. Potter, is Vernon Dursley a henchman of 'You Know Who'?" "Mr. Potter, is your uncle 'You Know Who'?" "Harry, isn't this just another scheme to get attention?"  
  
The questions completely overwhelmed Harry and it was a good thing Mr. Weasley was there to drag Harry to the car. Some of the questions were so bizarre that Harry didn't even understand them. The security wizards had to use force to keep the reporters at bay; they were so desperate to get to Harry that they would have crushed him. Already several reporters had been stunned, but this did not seem to scare of any of the others.  
  
When Harry and Mr. Weasley finally got into the car that had been waiting for them and the door closed, all sounds vanished. "Thank Merlin for silencing charms." Mr. Weasley muttered.  
  
Once inside, Harry saw that the car was much larger on the inside then in was on the outside, in fact it was huge. It contained a complete bar.  
  
"Would you like a drink, Harry? It will be a while before we get to the Burrow, can't skip in London you know, Muggles might see."  
  
"Skip? What's that?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh, sorry. Sometimes I forget you don't know all these things. Skipping is a lot like Apparating, actually it's the technical term for apparation done by inanimate objects like this car, or the Knight Bus, for example."  
  
"Oh," was all that Harry could say. "But the Knight Bus 'skipped' to Diagon Alley once when I was aboard." Harry still had trouble with the concept of 'skipping'.  
  
"Ah yes. You see the Knight Bus is an exception because it has been charmed to be invisible too Muggles, and it only travels at night. This car isn't charmed like that, to small; besides, it's broad daylight. But back to the subject at hand, a drink. Let's see what we have here. Ogden Firewhiskey,. no, you're a bit young for that," Mr. Weasley said, followed by: "Although I doubt you can be called young after what you've been through," under his breath.  
  
"Pineapple juice? No? What else do we have? Wine, chardonnay. I don't think so. Butterbeer? Or Pumpkin juice?"  
  
"Pumpkin juice, please."  
  
While sipping on his pumpkin juice Harry looked out of the window to see were they were.  
  
"We're in the middle of London. How do they keep something like St. Mungo's hidden?" Harry wondered.  
  
"It's been charmed, of course. The Muggles don't see the actual hospital. What they do see is a parking garage that is always full. Bless their Muggle hearts, we get hundreds of letters a year complaining about that."  
  
The car drove through London at speeds Harry still thought amazing and a little bit dangerous. He was no longer surprised at the way objects and other cars seemed to jump out of the way, but couldn't shake an uneasy feeling. They soon left London and took a quiet country road; a loud bang sounded and the car skipped to the Burrow.  
  
"Welcome back, Harry," Mr. Weasley smiled. As Harry stepped out of the car Ron, Hermione and the twins came storming out of the house.  
  
"Good to have you here, mate." Ron shouted even before he had reached Harry.  
  
"Hi, Harry," Hermione said only a little less loudly, "glad you're out of the hospital."  
  
She hugged him upon reaching him; Ron slapped him on his shoulder in a manly way.  
  
The twins had similar greetings and everyone was talking at once.  
  
There was talk of Quidditch (Ron, of course), OWL revision (Hermione) and pranks combined with Quidditch (the twins) and Harry trying to answer them all at once.  
  
"Shall we go inside first? I'm sure Mrs. Weasley wants to welcome Harry." Mr. Weasley had to raise his voice to be heard.  
  
Still talking all at once, the group moved towards the house. Harry's spirits lifted; he had actually not noticed that he had been down before, it had become too much of a natural state of being for him. . Inside Mrs. Weasley was cooking up a large lunch, but dropped all her activities when she saw Harry and enveloped him in a motherly hug.  
  
"Hello dear, welcome. Maybe even a little welcome home? How do you feel? Do you need to lie down? I hope you're hungry; I've made a special lunch.  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, it's good to be here and I feel fine, I'm sure I don't have to lie down, but lunch does sound wonderful, I'm starving," Harry answered.  
  
Strangely enough, the now beaming Mrs. Weasley was shorter then he remembered; in fact, Harry thought he was taller then she was when just a year before he had been just a bit smaller.  
  
"Hi, Harry," a soft voice behind him said.  
  
"Hi, Gin, how are you?" Ginny had certainly grown. She was now a lanky teenager and showed promise of becoming a fairly tall woman.  
  
"Fine, you?" Immediately after that Ginny had a horrified look on her face. "I'm sorry Harry, I shouldn't have asked that with all the."  
  
Harry held up his hand to stop her. "Don't worry about it Gin, I'm fine and thank you for asking. It's nice to be treated normally." Harry smiled. The horrified look on Ginny's face was replaced by a fierce blush.  
  
Lunch was grand affair as Mrs. Weasley had gone all out. There were so many different kinds of food that Harry had a hard time choosing.  
  
"Want to go play Quidditch after lunch, Harry?" Ron asked. "I need to practise. I want to try out for the team this year."  
  
"Well, we have at least five days to train you up," Harry replied, "We meaning, I take it the twins will help as well?" Ron only nodded, his mouth too full to talk.  
  
Harry snorted and continued: "After that, Professor Dumbledore is coming to talk to me and the day after that is the trial." The mood at the table plummeted with the mention of the trial.  
  
"We'll be going with you Harry, so don't worry too much about it. Wizarding trials are usually pretty quick so it should be over in no time," Mr. Weasley said.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry said in a gloomy tone. "It was a wonderful meal, Mrs. Weasley; may I be excused?"  
  
"Of course, Harry dear."  
  
"I think I will lie down for a moment after all. Excuse me." With that, Harry went up to Ron's room, where he would be sleeping again.  
  
"Poor boy, he's been through more than any man should be expected to bear." Mrs. Weasley had a tear rolling over her cheek as she said this.  
  
"We'll give him a few minutes, and then go get him for a game of Quidditch," Ron decided. "That will cheer him up."  
  
Both twins nodded.  
  
"We'll do a two against two game," George chimed in.  
  
"Why? I'm sure Ginny and Hermione would love to join us," Fred said with a wicked smile on his face. "You'd love to join us wouldn't you, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione returned an imperious stare, determined not to let the twins get the better of her. "I do not play Quidditch and you know it, Fred Weasley. I suggest you ask someone else to join you if you need a sixth, your father perhaps?"  
  
"Sorry kids, but I have to return to the office this afternoon; I only had the morning off to pick up Harry. Have to go." And quick as he could Mr. Weasley left for work.  
  
Ron jumped up. "Me and Hermione will go cheer up Harry." Grabbing Hermione's hand he dragged her from the kitchen.  
  
Fred and George heard her voice come from the living room: "Fred, George, you help your mother with the dishes now."  
  
Both Fred and George slowly turned toward their mother and saw she was already pointing at the large mountain of dishes.  
  
"Drat," they both muttered.  
  
*****  
  
Harry was sitting on his mattress, back against the wall; his knees were pulled up against his chest, his arms circling them. He was staring into nothingness. He had not bothered to light any lights and the drapes were closed. The mood in the room was gloomy.  
  
Slowly the door opened and Ron peeked around the corner. When he saw Harry just sitting there, he opened the door fully.  
  
Both Ron and Hermione were worried about Harry's lack of reaction to their entrance.  
  
"Harry.? Come on, mate, cheer up."  
  
Slowly Harry looked up. Ron and Hermione could still see anger, horror, pain, fear and sadness floating in Harry's eyes, it was unsettling.  
  
"Come on, mate; let's go play a game of Quidditch," Ron said, his voice now artificially cheerful.  
  
"Yeah, Quidditch," Harry said in an unsteady voice, "I'd love to. Let's go."  
  
And with that Harry quickly stood up and grabbed his broom, rushing outside. Ron and Hermione were left in the room, exchanging worried looks.  
  
*****  
  
The rest of the day was filled with Quidditch, talk of Quidditch and even more Quidditch.  
  
Hermione was meanwhile sitting at the edge of the clearing were the boys were playing, reading a book and catching a little sun.  
  
Sunbathing while reading had become something of a hobby for Hermione and she had a nice tan. Even her hair was a little lighter from the amount of sun it had seen. Hermione hid how she had grown under baggy clothes even when sunning; she was somewhat embarrassed.  
  
Because of her use of the time turner she was actually older then most people thought, and she had developed accordingly.  
  
Hermione was, as always, amazed by the change that Harry underwent when he flew. All the worries and pain he usually bore on his shoulders just seemed to disappear.  
  
She wondered what Harry thought of the changes the restorative potions had wrought. He was at least 6 to 7 inches taller than the last time she had seen him and she thought she could see the muscles grow now that he was exercising.  
  
She hoped that Harry would now undergo the normal growth process that boys went through at his age, instead of the stunted growth that was his history.  
  
Hermione was torn between pulling Harry from his broom, admonishing him about the dangers of reckless flying every time he pulled another stunt, and laughing for the joy that shone in his eyes every time he was successful.  
  
And then there was Ron. Ron had grown as well, although not as dramatically as Harry.  
  
Did he still like her? Hermione wasn't sure. She had thought so after the Yule Ball last year, but after Harry's hospitalisation there had not been an opportunity to find out. Did she want to find out? She wasn't even sure what she felt towards Ron herself.  
  
One thing was sure at least; she was not in love with Viktor Krum.  
  
The way the Bulgarian Quidditch player had reacted to Hermione's cancellation was proof enough for her of his attitude. She was not a possession for any man, to be at his beck and call; and the way he had demanded her 'attendance' for his birthday was outrageous. She was, however, scared that Ron would be little better.  
  
She decided that now was not the time for these contemplations and returned to her book, a very interesting treatise on wizard rule and government.  
  
*****  
  
The mood at dinner was a little forced as everyone was trying to avoid any subjects that might upset Harry.  
  
This was frustrating for Harry as he wanted to know if Voldemort had taken any action while he himself had been out of contact with the world. The subject of Voldemort was, however, avoided almost as much as the subject of Vernon Dursley.  
  
He did have a good time talking to Bill and Charlie though. They had come over for dinner together with Percy and were now talking about their respective jobs. Harry suddenly realised he would have to get a job after Hogwarts. He had absolutely no idea what he would like to do, but then again he had little idea of what kinds of jobs there were in the wizarding world. Then the thought occurred to him that he probably didn't have to look for a job anyway, the changes of him surviving Voldemort were slim to none. The thought depressed him.  
  
After dinner the evening was pleasant enough. Ron and Harry played wizard's chess; Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were discussing the coming school year, and Mr. Weasley was reading the evening edition of the Daily Prophet. The twins had gone to their room and Bill, Charlie and Percy had gone to Percy's house. He had bought it at the beginning of the summer and Bill and Charlie had been staying with him for the duration of their vacation.  
  
"I was so nervous when I got my letter," Hermione told them, "I couldn't believe it when I opened it and it said I was to be a Prefect."  
  
"We never doubted it for a minute," Harry told her, he had been listening to the conversation while Ron was contemplating his next move.  
  
"That reminds me, dear," Mrs. Weasley said while she got up and walked to the small desk in the corner of the room, "I have your Hogwart's letter here. The owl came to the hospital while you were 'sleeping', it didn't understand your condition. Here you go."  
  
Harry stared at the letter.  
  
"Well go on dear, open it."  
  
"I'm just wondering if it'll say I'm a Prefect as well."  
  
"Sorry mate," Ron blushed, "I'm a Prefect as well, and you know there is only one male Prefect per year, per house." Ron seemed to be ashamed of the fact that he was a Prefect and Harry was therefore not. "I don't understand why they made me a Prefect; it's not as if my grades are that good. The letter did say something of having been of 'service to the school', but why then choose me instead of you." Ron's voice trailed off as he seemed to realise he was babbling.  
  
Harry was somewhat surprised. Ron was a Prefect and he wasn't? Not that he thought Ron didn't deserve it, but it was just that. well, his mum and dad had been Head -boy and -girl and he had done some distinguishing things.  
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump,  
  
International Confed. of Wizards)  
  
Dear Mister Potter,  
  
It is my duty to inform you that The Protectorate Council has been reinstated for the first time in 350 years. It is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been selected to be one of the chosen Proctors. Proctors are expected to arrive at Hogwarts one week prior to the start of the school year. Your duties and privileges will be explained to you there. Proctors are obliged to acquire the following items in addition to their normal school supplies.  
  
Duelling For Masters by Professor F. Flitwick; 2 pairs of exercise clothing; 1 set of black clothing; 1 standard dragon hide cloak; 1 pair of standard dragon hide boots; 1 standard dragon hide upper body armour.  
  
If you cannot afford these protective items you may draw them from the Hogwarts armoury.  
  
Included in this letter you will find your Proctor badge. Your Proctor badge is also the portkey to Hogwarts. It is set to August 25 at ten o'clock in the morning.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Albus Dumbledore Headmaster  
  
"What in Merlin's name is a Proctor?" Harry asked.  
  
Everyone was looking puzzled, wondering what Harry was talking about, except Hermione, who looked like she was trying to remember something but couldn't.  
  
"I'm sure I read something about it, but where? Councils of Magic? No. Battling the Darkness? No. Ah, yes; Hogwarts: A History, of course." And with that she leaped for the stairs and ran up them two steps in one stride.  
  
When she came back she was carrying the giant tome.  
  
"What would we do without Hermione and Hogwarts: A History," Ron joked.  
  
"It was somewhere in the beginning" Hermione said while she was paging through the book, clearly ignoring Ron.  
  
"Here it is: The Protectorate Council was a selected group of students, chosen purely for their abilities in the field of defence, duelling and other forms of combat. Their task was to help defend the castle from invaders, guard for intruders and keep the peace. When the time of constant war and sieges ended the council was disbanded, but their facilities and charter still exist. The decision to reinstate the Protectorate Council lies solely with the Headmaster of Hogwarts who is its ultimate authority. Proctors receive special training from the available teachers to better help them do their jobs. No age or year is mandatory to be a Proctor but they are almost always 6th and 7th years. The leading Proctor is called the Proctor-Commander. The position is attained by defeating the current Proctor-Commander in a duel. A challenge to said duel may only be issued after receiving the teachers' recommendation as being a competent leader and having a firm grasp of tactics. The Duel is to take place in the Great Hall and is open to all students and faculty. A Proctor is the ultimate student authority in matters of security and can in rare cases even outrank a teacher."  
  
"Wow, outrank a teacher; imagine that," Ron said in a hushed tone. "Do you think the new Protectorate Council will have the same tasks and authority?"  
  
Hermione was now in full lecture mode: "Well I seriously doubt that, for instance 'keeping the peace' is an outdated concept. Back then England was divided into several different countries and political areas. Strife between students from rivalling countries was not unheard of, especially during times of war. These days that kind of division no longer exists. Besides, that part of the job would now belong to a Prefect anyway." Hermione sounded as if she was partly defending her own station.  
  
"I guess I'll be finding out at Hogwarts," Harry interjected,to end any discussion on the topic. He wasn't sure about the implication of this job. "When are we visiting Diagon Alley anyway? I still need to get my things. What about you three? Where are my old things anyway?"  
  
"Uhm, Harry dear. your old things, they were all destroyed. Your. Vernon burned them all. You'll have to buy all of it again; you'll need them for OWL-revisions. As for Diagon Alley, we'll be visiting it after. after the trial; the day before you leave for Hogwarts at the latest." Mrs. Weasley said.  
  
"Oh, alright. what about those dragon hide items, do you know where I can get them? Or should I draw them from the Hogwarts armoury?"  
  
"I didn't even know Hogwarts had an armoury," Ron muttered absently.  
  
"It would be best to get the protective gear for yourself, dear. You see, every sub-species of dragon has a different hide and it has to suit your magic if you're going to be using it as armour; if it doesn't suit you it will impede you. The fit is also important, if it doesn't fit perfectly there is a change that any magic it stops, spills behind it. I think I can find out were to get the armour. Don't you worry about it. These coming days are meant to be fun days." Mrs. Weasley had a pensive look on her face as she said this.  
  
The evening ended in the same mood as it had begun. 


	8. Chapter VII

Chapter VII  
  
Suddenly Harry lurched upright, barely holding in a scream. Only after a few moment he remembered were he was - Ron's room. He had been woken by another nightmare. He had already had several that night - nightmares including Cedric's death, Voldemort and Vernon, each had been more terrifying than the other. He was exhausted.  
  
As he sat on his mattress Harry very consciously decided he didn't want to go back to sleep right now. The dreams seemed to exhaust him more then just staying awake.  
  
Quickly he slipped on a T-shirt over the boxers he had been wearing, still not having pyjamas.  
  
As he made his way downstairs, he noticed there was still a light on in the living room. It was Hermione; she had installed herself on the couch, looking quite comfortable and totally absorbed in 'Hogwarts: A History'.  
  
Harry hesitated, should he join her or go back upstairs? He wasn't given a choice though; Hermione suddenly looked up as if noticing someone looking at her; when she saw Harry standing at the bottom of the stairs she said: "What are you doing here, Harry? Why aren't you in bed?"  
  
"I could ask the same of you," Harry replied.  
  
"I couldn't sleep, decided to read a little but didn't want to disturb Ginny. Harry, you look all sweaty and you're so white. What's wrong?"  
  
"Nightmares," was Harry's only reaction, not really wanting to talk about it.  
  
"Oh no," Hermione whispered, a look of worry flowing across her face. "Come sit here," she continued in a normal tone of voice and patted the couch next to her.  
  
When Harry sat beside her she pulled him in an embrace. Harry gave in to it, reluctant at first, very much aware of the little clothing they were both wearing, but then, feeling comforted by her touch, he leaned in towards her hug. As he felt her body heat seep into him he felt the tight knot in his stomach unwind a bit.  
  
When she felt him relax Hermione prodded Harry to shift positions and soon Harry found himself lying on the couch with his head in Hermione's lap. She was soothingly stroking his forehead as she had done twice before. Harry felt himself relax further.  
  
"Tell me." Hermione said; it was only half a question.  
  
"You don't want to hear." Harry answered, his eyes now closed.  
  
"Maybe not, but you need to tell someone. Tell me. please?" "I'm not sure." Harry said, but seemed to change mid-sentence.  
  
Harry started to tell of his nightmares. Of Voldemort, Vernon, Cedric, and how sometimes Cedric would change into Ron, or Hermione would be the one Vernon was torturing. The more Harry told the more the words just seemed to flow from him; he found himself unable to stop talking. He told only of his nightmares, not of what had actually happened either in the graveyard or on Privet Drive; sometimes reality was worse than dreams. It also allowed him to leave out the more upsetting details about what had happened the day of Voldemort's resurrection; no one knew the full scope of that story except Dumbledore and Sirius, who had been present the first and only time he had told it.  
  
Hermione was shocked by Harry's dreams; the images his words conjured were like ice cold knives being plunged into her stomach. As Harry continued, his eyes focused on those past horrors, she felt the need to cry. As nightmare followed nightmare, she felt the urge to empty her stomach as each new telling settled into her like acid. She did neither for the sake of her friend. When Harry was done, they both remained silent. There was nothing to be said.  
  
"May I ask what you are doing?" It was Mr. Weasley; he looked displeased with what he saw.  
  
Harry suddenly realised what this must look like, the both of them downstairs in the middle of the night, wearing only their sleeping clothes. He seemed to fly of the couch, but before he could say something Hermione said in a calm voice: "Harry was having nightmares."  
  
"Ah," Mr. Weasley replied in an understanding tone, comprehension clearly dawning in his eyes. "You best go to bed Hermione, it's getting late."  
  
Hermione nodded. "Goodnight Harry."  
  
While Hermione was going upstairs Mr. Weasley was walking to the cupboard.  
  
"Want to talk about them?" he asked.  
  
"No, not really," Harry replied, sounding tired.  
  
"Told Hermione about them?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well that's good at least." Mr. Weasley was taking something out of the cupboard.  
  
"I know of only two cures for nightmares. One is dreamless sleep potion; unfortunately you can't use that more then two or three times a month. More and it causes brain damage, a person needs to dream, besides that, it's strongly addictive. The other thing is this."  
  
When he sat down he placed two shot-glasses, both filled with an amber liquid, on the coffee table in front of him. He put a half empty bottle beside them. "You're a bit young, but if you take the right potions tomorrow it won't damage you. Drink up."  
  
A bit hesitant, Harry took up the glass and sipped. The liquid burned in his mouth and when he swallowed he felt it go all the way down, warming him. He coughed a bit.  
  
He took another sip. It was getting better.  
  
He saw Mr. Weasley take the glass a swallow the drink in one gulp. He decided to do the same. A lot of coughing followed. A burning sensation flowed towards his stomach and upon arriving there seemed to explode, creating drops of sweat on his brow.  
  
"Not bad, Harry, not bad for a beginner." With a smile, Mr. Weasley refilled the two glasses.  
  
"Come on, you can't stand on one leg, as the saying goes. Drink up." Again Mr. Weasley needed only one gulp. Harry took the glass and downed the drink.  
  
"I started this habit during the first rise of Voldemort," Mr. Weasley said. Harry had an astonished look on his face.  
  
"Oh Harry, don't look so surprised; I can say Voldemort when I've had a couple of drinks. Now where was I? Oh yes, habit. The advantage that wizards have over Muggles is that we have hangover- potions. It makes your headache go away and has the added benefit of making sure your liver doesn't get damaged. It also prevents any physical addiction. I've found out, that if you do this with moderation, a drink here and there helps on the really bad nights."  
  
"Do you have nightmares, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, while watching Mr. Weasley refill the two glasses.  
  
"I won't say mine are as bad as yours, Harry, but I have my share. Maybe someday I might tell you some of them." Mr. Weasley said with a distant look on his face.  
  
"I think it better not to tell any of this to Molly, or any of my children for that matter. Not that she and the eldest don't know I have a few drinks on occasion. No, I mean about you drinking yourself; Molly wouldn't take it well." Harry only nodded, knowing how protective and mothering Mrs. Weasley could be.  
  
They finished a third glass and Mr. Weasley returned the bottle and cleaned the glasses.  
  
"Best try to get some sleep. If you have a headache tomorrow, just take the potion in the medicine cabinet marked as 'Arthur's headache potion', a sip should be enough. If you have other nightmares feel free to take a drink, but remember: with moderation. I know how full the bottle is." Harry again only nodded.  
  
"Of to bed now, I think Ron has a busy day planned for you tomorrow." Both Harry and Mr. Weasley headed upstairs.  
  
When Harry lay down, he felt relaxed. The drinks had done him good; it had taken the edge of his nerves. Harry fell asleep quickly and although he wasn't nightmare free, they were more bearable.  
***** The next day Harry was awakened by a bouncing sensation. It was Ron, jumping up and down on Harry's mattress. "Come on sleepy head, wake up; breakfast will be ready in five minutes. WAKE UP!" He yelled cheerily. Ron had clearly been up for awhile.  
  
"I'm awake, I'm awake," Harry responded in a gruff tone of voice. He had a mild headache and Ron's yelling and bouncing wasn't helping.  
  
"Sorry," Ron said, a bit put down, "didn't know you were going to bite my head off."  
  
"I'm. sorry, Ron. It's just that I didn't sleep that well. I'm going to take a shower."  
  
Harry took a hot shower and a sip op the hangover potion after that. His head cleared right up. He closed the medicine cabinet and saw himself in the mirror. Harry was startled.  
  
He was huge.  
  
Well, not huge, but he was certainly a lot bigger then he had been. Suddenly he understood a few things a lot better. Like what some people had said, why people seemed not as large to him, and why those big clothes had fit him. He had shot up somewhere between 6 and 7 inches and his shoulders were a lot broader now. He still wasn't big or heavily muscled, but he wasn't scrawny any more.  
  
Harry realized he didn't have any clothes other then the ones he had worn yesterday. He would have to remedy that later. Dressed, he went down for breakfast still a bit amazed about his new size.  
  
"Good morning, Harry dear. What would you like for breakfast?" Mrs. Weasley was in her usual good mood. "Sleep well, dear?"  
  
Harry was a bit put of by the question. His sleeping problems were not for the whole world to know. It was bad enough that Hermione and Mr. Weasley knew about it. He decided to treat the question as a politeness, not a real inquiry. "I slept well, thank you. Are there any pancakes?"  
  
Hermione gave him a questioning look at his answer but didn't say anything.  
  
"Pancakes it is. They'll be ready in four minutes," and with that Mrs. Weasley immediately started baking.  
  
"How about a game of Quidditch after breakfast, mate?" Ron was already eating scrambled eggs and bacon like there was no tomorrow. "Fred and George are joining us after breakfast; they're in their room right now."  
  
Ron looked at his mother, bowed over to Harry and whispered: "They've been inventing all summer. Some nutter invested in their company. Mum doesn't know; she's already confiscated more gags than I thought those two could cook up, and they're still at it."  
  
Harry only smiled a small smile, knowing exactly where the money had come from. He would have to look in on the twins, see if they had come up with anything interesting.  
  
"Ron dear, do remember it's your turn to help with the dishes this morning."  
  
"But Mum." Ron groaned.  
  
"No buts, young man. Harry, why don't you go see what those two mischief-makers of mine are up to? It's been quiet for far to long, I don't trust it." Mrs. Weasley directed a suspicious frown towards the ceiling in the direction of the twins' room.  
  
"I'll help Ron," Hermione said before Mrs. Weasley could make another suggestion. Ron quickly turned to hide a silly grin at this.  
  
"Yeah Harry, you go get the twins and we'll do the dishes." Ron's tone of voice was completely different from before. If Harry didn't know any better he would have sworn Ron was now happy about doing the dishes.  
  
*****  
  
When Harry knocked on the door of the twins' room there was an immediate reply: "Just a minute," it sounded, two voices speaking at the same time.  
  
It was a minute later when the door opened. "Oy, Harry. Why didn't you say it was you? That would have saved us a lot of trouble" one of the twins said. Harry thought it was Fred.  
  
"You can put everything back, Fred," Harry had been wrong; the twin opening the door had been George.  
  
When Harry stepped into the room Fred had just opened a small box. All of a sudden the room was twice as large and looked a bit like the potions dungeon at Hogwarts, but not as moist or cold.  
  
"Mobile Magic Laboratory," Fred said after seeing Harry's amazement, "bought with a portion of your money, I might add. It cost a pretty Knut but it was worth it. It contains everything we need to develop our products. It also comes with its own very well stocked supply room, so Mum doesn't notice us bringing in as many things."  
  
Harry was impressed by the level of professionalism the twins had reached in such a short time.  
  
"Wow," was all he could say.  
  
"That about sums it up," George smiled, "and one third of all this is yours. We've decided that you as our main." "And only," Fred chimed in. "And only investor," George continued, "should be our silent partner. We've already taken the liberty of transferring one third of our company shares to your Gringot's vault. Our company is, by the way, registered under Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."  
  
"But."  
  
"I'm sorry Harry, but we won't take no for an answer; besides, it's a done deal." Fred and George now had identical grins on their faces. "And you should know that there are many added benefits to being our partner." Fred said.  
  
"Such as access to our experimental products," George continued.  
  
"Not to mention custom made gags on request." Fred took over.  
  
"And don't forget access to this laboratory."  
  
"And last but not least; we'll let you in on any pranks we pull that we think you'd like."  
  
"Now how can you say no to something like that?" They finished together.  
  
"All right, all right. You've convinced me," Harry chortled. "It's an honour to accept. Just do me a favour and don't think that, just because I'm your partner, I'll be your guinea pig."  
  
"Ah Harry, you spoil all our fun." Fred had a grin on his face despite the disappointed tone of his voice.  
  
"Ron sent me to tell you, Quidditch after he's done the dishes, which should be about now. So, are you coming?"  
  
"Let's go." The twins grabbed their brooms, closed the box and followed Harry downstairs. They spent the rest of the day playing Quidditch.  
  
*****  
  
That night Harry's slumber was fitful due to several more nightmares. A few contained Voldemort killing and torturing several people, but as his scar didn't hurt, Harry figured they were just nightmares without significance. The majority of his nightmares now featured Vernon.  
  
After having woken up several times and having gone back to his slumber, Harry came out of his sleep having had an especially vivid dream. His body was covered with cold sweat and his sheets were lying next to his bed, so violent had his movements been.  
  
As he looked at Ron's watch he saw that it was about three hours past midnight, he decided to go downstairs; trying to sleep right now was pointless, his heart was still beating at a high rate.  
  
Downstairs Harry sat on the couch and his gaze turned towards the cupboard. For a few minutes he considered what to do, remembering Mr. Weasley's offer, but also his warning He opened the cupboard from where he'd seen Mr. Weasley take the bottle. It was there, but there was a note attached:  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
As I said, if your nightmares bother you, feel free to take a drink. I however remind you to use moderation and the mature judgement I have come to expect from you.  
  
Sleep well,  
  
Arthur Weasley  
He did need to get some sleep and this stuff seemed to do the trick.  
  
Harry took another look at the bottle:  
  
Ogden's Firewhiskey 40%vol.  
  
He took the bottle and a shotglass and sat down in front of the fireplace, although there had been no fire that day.  
  
After he had downed the first shot Harry felt himself warm up on the inside as well as the outside. Slowly he felt himself relax a little. A second and third drink relaxed him even further. Should he take another one? Mr. Weasley had advised caution. well, one more wouldn't hurt and then he was off to bed.  
  
Harry had another night of sleep filled with nightmares, but at least he had sleep.  
*****  
  
The following days went by at a rapid pace. During the day they would all play Quidditch or Ron and Harry conspired with the twins.  
  
Everyone in the house was the victim of a prank at one time or another, all except Mrs. Weasley. Harry didn't want to play a prank on her and the Weasley boys were afraid to.  
  
At one point Ginny walked around with purple hair, Hermione had sprouted little horns and Ron had yellow skin.  
  
Percy had been especially indignant when he was fed a Backwards Brownie after a dinner visit; every word he said came out backwards and when he left he was heard to say: "oN tcepser, on tcepser reveostahw rof a yrtsiniM laiciffo."  
  
Ginny turned out to have quite a temper as she too reacted with anger at being a victim. As Harry had been the main perpetrator of the foul deed (as Ginny called it) he took the brunt of her verbal assault. For once Ginny didn't seem to have a shy bone in her body, as she berated Harry for being in league with her 'Brothers from hell'. Her brothers tried to commiserate with him but did a poor job of holding in their laughter.  
  
Harry, on the other hand, was quite proficient at dodging the twins' pranks and even had one backfire on them. They were both covered in itching-potion when they went through a door they had forgotten they had booby trapped, when Harry called them down for lunch even though it was an hour early. George was hit first, but his twin was right behind him and collided with his already furiously scratching brother.  
  
Ron and Ginny, who had been waiting for the results of the prank, howled with laughter when they heard the Twins' cries; they had fully expected Harry to fail. As Harry was one of the first to take proper revenge on the Twins, all was forgiven by Ginny, who clearly stated that 'anyone who could fool the Twins could be forgiven anything'.  
  
Harry was finally a victim to a prank when the twins enlisted Ron's help.  
  
While Ron distracted Harry with a game of wizard's chess the twins snuck up behind him and put a potion in his pumpkin juice. After Harry had taken a sip he could only sing everything he wanted to say. It was a variation on the Backwards Brownie, lyrical potion. The whole Weasley family had little to eat after Harry sang a particularly fetching song about the delicious chicken Mrs. Weasley had made. 


	9. Chapter VIII

Chapter VIII  
  
Soon the day before the trial had arrived. Harry had a feeling of nervous anticipation. Maybe Dumbledore's visit would mean some more answers. Answers to questions like why he had kept Harry from getting angry, what was happening to him? But knowing Dumbledore it would probably mean more questions than answers.  
  
Harry was by now pretty sure that Dumbledore had placed wards at the Burrow to keep him calm. He had not been angry once, not even when the twins had finally gotten him. That lyrical potion had been embarrassing beyond words, especially at moment when his voice had broken. No anger, no fear, no sadness. but no exuberant joy either.  
  
Dumbledore had owled Mrs. Weasley that he would be arriving at one o'clock in the afternoon.  
  
Harry spent the morning pacing up and down the kitchen, the living room and Ron's room, driving both Ron and Hermione to distraction. The only thing that had half diverted him was the Quidditch practise that Ron had insisted on, but Ron soon gave up on that. He had gotten the snitch before Harry twice, something that had never happened before.  
  
The twins had gone to London with their father to do some 'early shopping' and weren't due back until shortly before dinner; no doubt it was for another product that would cause mayhem and carnage for the unwary. Ginny had gone to a friend's house, and Hermione had finally fled the Burrow and was, as had become her habit, sunbathing and reading.  
  
After a quiet lunch that Harry hardly tasted, Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace.  
  
"Hello Molly. Harry, Ron, Hermione, how are you all?"  
  
"Fine, thank you, Professor," the general reply came, everyone expectant of things to come.  
  
"I had the Floo system put back on, as we will have to travel to court tomorrow. There is, however, an identification system now; no unidentified users are allowed to pass. Quite ingenious actually, they just needed a few days to build and install it, and it only works because there is only one exit at the Burrow," the headmaster smiled. "Well now, maybe Harry and I should go to the living room? We have a few things to discuss."  
  
"Of course, Professor," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Would you like anything to drink?"  
  
"Why is it I can never get my former students to call me by my first name? Really Molly, I've told you before, please call me Albus." Molly smiled, knowing she would probably make the same mistake the next time and her former teacher would probably chide her for it again.  
  
"Why don't we go to the living room, Harry?" Dumbledore said, as he began ushering Harry towards the door. He turned back to Mrs. Weasley and said: "Some tea after we're done would be lovely, Molly, but we will be a while, so don't start as of yet." Dumbledore followed Harry to the living room.  
  
"Please sit down Harry, I have much to tell you and afterward you will have some questions, I am sure."  
  
Harry and Dumbledore took opposite seats. For the first time since he knew him Harry thought he saw Dumbledore display hesitation.  
  
"Do you remember you told me how you parted your mind?" Dumbledore began; Harry only nodded confirmation, still not comfortable with talking about that period in his life.  
  
"This alone is remarkable enough. I've heard and read about it before, but it is only done by those who are very powerful and very experienced. My guess would be that because of your .'desperation' you were able to do it. It was an astounding feat of willpower in any case. You told me you put your magic in that separated part as well. As far as I know that has never been attempted before and as you know, something that has never been done before always brings unforeseen consequences, as indeed is now the case. What you have done means that your mind and your magic were forced to exist in a limited space, together."  
  
"The white light," Harry suddenly gasped, comprehension dawning on his face, "it was my magic."  
  
"Yes, Harry, that was your magic," Dumbledore said with a proud smile, instantly understanding what Harry meant. "You have been in contact with your magic like few wizards before you have. This will undoubtedly lead to those unforeseen consequences. You may already have noticed how strongly your magic responds to your emotions. What you may not have noticed is how strong that magic has become. Normally a wizard's or witch's magic develops most strongly during his or her adolescence. We think this is nature's way of giving you time to adjust, like you have time to adjust to a larger body. We, as your educators, have a general idea of how powerful you will become when you reach your peak. This peak of course varies with knowledge and training, but we can always give a general indication. The problem, Harry, is that, although you were going to become a powerful wizard in your own right, you have reached a level of power now that is already comparable with what we expected your peak to be. And you're still growing."  
  
"What does that mean, Professor?" Harry asked with worry in his voice, remembering what had happened in the hospital.  
  
"That means, Harry, that because you have undergone a forced growth you will have trouble controlling your magic for a long time. You seem especially unstable magic-wise when you are angry. We don't know why that is, but we can guess. We think that your mind and magic have been interconnected in a whole new way. What that will lead to we cannot say, but what we do know is that your magic reacts to your emotions."  
  
"Professor, does that mean that every time I get mad, something will happen?"  
  
"Or scared, sad, happy; we just can't say, but like I said, anger seems to create the strongest response. We have taken some temporary measures here, at the Burrow, to insure nothing happens. These measures will, however, not work at Hogwarts. For one thing, there is too much magic there, the wards we used are very delicate. The main reason, however, is that with those wards in place you will never learn to control your magic. We are working on a permanent solution. Do you have any questions so far?"  
  
"Many, but none very important right now," Harry's voice sounded amazed and at the same time a little frightened. He was trying to understand and accept a whole new range of concepts  
  
"Then I shall continue. To better help you, we need to know more. For that purpose I have brought this."  
  
Dumbledore reached into his robes and took out a crystal. It had so many facets that it seemed almost round. It looked hollow, but when Harry took it from Dumbledore it felt heavy.  
  
"I want you to sit on the floor, cross your legs and set the crystal before you."  
  
Harry did as he was told. The crystal held a strange kind of fascination for him. The light that fell into it from the noon sun was fractured in so many ways and directions that it seemed almost a work of art. Harry felt as if the crystal was pulling at him, seducing him. Dumbledore took a chair and set it behind Harry.  
  
"Now Harry, I want you to concentrate on the crystal. Look at it, try to feel it with your magic, try to become aware of it in every way possible." Dumbledore's voice took on a magical quality.  
  
The crystal was just sitting there, on the floor, but as Harry strained it seemed to become sharper in his vision, to sparkle more, to come closer. Slowly h felt himself fall into it. It was as if his consciousness was drawn into it and he was aware of it in a whole new way with senses he never knew he had.  
  
"The crystal is all there is. You are the crystal, Harry. See it, feel it." Slowly Dumbledore's voice faded from Harry's consciousness. Further and further down he spiralled into the crystal. It was fascinating.  
  
He had the feeling the crystal had its own purpose, it felt like it was waiting to be filled with something; in fact it was being filled by something right now. But what?  
  
Even further down he went, spiralling down, deeper and deeper, drawn on by curiosity and a strange need to see what it was that was starting to fill the crystal.  
  
When he reached the very core of the crystal he saw it. There was a white haze that was familiar. Harry recognized it now; he couldn't believe how ignorant he had been before: It was his magic; how could it be anything else, to deny it was to deny that his arms were part of him.  
  
The purpose of the crystal was now clear to Harry. It was meant to contain a sample of raw magic. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him this? Maybe finding this out was a test?  
  
Well, if it was a test he would pass it. Now looking inside himself, Harry searched for that same white light that was before him. As always it was there, in his very core, the still centre of his being. He didn't try to grab it; he knew that to be futile; he had tried it so many times when he was still in his hospital bed to no avail. Instead he gently guided and coaxed it to the surface.  
  
As he backed out of the crystal, slowly receding from its core, he let the magic pour out of him, filling the void he left behind. When he reached the outside of the crystal he gradually began to become aware of his body and senses.  
  
"Come back, Harry, come back." It was Dumbledore but his voice sounded misty, as if from a great distance.  
  
Slowly Harry untangled himself from the crystal further, filling the places he left with magic, and finally he left the crystal and returned to his body fully.  
  
"Come back, Harry, come back," Dumbledore sounded hoarse, as if he had been saying the same thing over and over for along time. His hands were on Harry's temples.  
  
"I'm here," Harry said, feeling content to leave his eyes closed for now, remembering the inside of the crystal.  
  
"Thank Merlin," Dumbledore whispered with relief. "You went into the crystal so deeply, so quickly. I had not expected this. You were lucky you came back when you did, for I could not reach you. Had you remained in the crystal much longer, I doubt you would have been able to re-establish the connection between you and your body."  
  
"But Professor, I wasn't gone that long, fifteen minutes at most." Harry protested, slowly becoming aware of small aches in his limbs and back.  
  
"You were in the crystal for five hours, Harry."  
  
Harry was absolutely amazed; the time spent in the crystal had not seemed more than ten to fifteen minutes to him, but as he squinted his eyes open and his eyes were assaulted by light, he could see that the sun in a totally different position than when they had started; it must be true.  
  
"I think we should tell the others you're back. They were quite worried. I had to send them away, though; they were too much of a distraction."  
  
Harry now opened his eyes completely; he still felt drowsy, as if after a long night's sleep. The crystal was still there, on the ground before him. It now shone with an intense white light. When Harry picked it up it was warm to the touch.  
  
"That crystal was meant to sample a little of your magic in its natural state," Dumbledore commented when he saw Harry looking at the crystal, "it should be emanating a soft, coloured light that corresponds with the nature of your magic. Instead it is shining brightly and it is white. You never cease to surprise me, Harry." Dumbledore held out his hand. "May I have it please?"  
  
"I found out what it was for Professor, so I decided to fill it as best I could," with these words Harry turned around to face Dumbledore and handed him the crystal.  
  
"You found out what the crystal was for?" Harry nodded.  
  
"Fascinating," was Dumbledore's only comment. Both stood up and Dumbledore led Harry towards the kitchen.  
  
When they entered Mrs. Weasley immediately enveloped Harry in a crushing hug: "Are you alright, poor boy? We were so afraid you were gone again."  
  
At the kitchen table were Ron, Hermione and Ginny. They had all stood up when Harry and Dumbledore had entered and all had worried looks upon their faces.  
  
"I'm fine," Harry said, but no one looked very convinced.  
  
"I assure you Mr. Potter is quite alright," Dumbledore said in a confident voice, "He was in the crystal a little deeper than is usual and so it took a little longer. No harm was done."  
  
Looking relieved, his friends rushed up to Harry. Hermione hugged Harry while Ron was slamming him on the shoulder; Ginny simply extended her hand and covered Harry's hand where it was lying on Hermione's shoulder.  
  
"Now Molly, I think there was talk of tea before we started," Dumbledore smiled  
  
"Oh dear me, of course." Mrs. Weasley dried off the tears that had appeared in her eyes and set to making tea.  
  
When the tea was ready they all sat down at the kitchen table, the mood one of relief.  
  
"Ah Molly, you still make excellent tea, where did you say you got your blend? Oh never mind, I know: it's a secret."  
  
"I will pack you some if you like, Professor, to take with you, but as you said, my tea blend is a secret," Mrs. Weasley had a very pleased smile.  
  
"I will be off after tea and come back tomorrow to escort Harry to the trial." Dumbledore took a look at his unusual pocket watch and said: "This took a little longer than expected, but then again there were some very unexpected and useful results. Well, I had best be off. See you all tomorrow."  
  
After everyone had said goodbye to Dumbledore he walked towards the fireplace.  
  
"Oh Harry, before I forget, I know you lost all your clothes and haven't been able to go shopping yet; that, by the way, is partly my fault. Anyway, I brought you some formal robes for tomorrow," and with that Dumbledore reached into his robes again and pulled out a small, flat box. In his hand it expanded.  
  
"Here you go, Harry," Dumbledore handed Harry the box.  
  
"Thank you, Sir." Harry was a little surprised by this gesture.  
  
"Least I could do Harry, least I could do," and with that Dumbledore took out a little Floo powder, threw it in the fire and disappeared while saying: "Ministry Research Department."  
  
*****  
  
"You wanted to see me Albus?" asked McGonagall as she entered the headmaster's office.  
  
Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, staring at a crystal shining with an undiminishing white light. He seemed lost in thought.  
  
"Is that a Captura crystal?" she asked a bit puzzled.  
  
"Yes it is," Dumbledore answered.  
  
"Then why is it shining so brightly. and why white?"  
  
"Because of the magic it contains."  
  
McGonagall was silent for a moment, studying the answer for hidden meaning beneath its simplistic surface.  
  
"Whose is it?"  
  
"Harry's"  
  
"Dear Merlin help us." 


	10. Chapter IX

Chapter IX  
  
It was late in the night when Harry decided he wasn't going to get any sleep without some help. He walked downstairs intending to take the bottle out of the cupboard and have a drink or two. When he opened the cupboard, however, the bottle was gone. In its place was a note.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
I've noticed you have been having a drink almost every night since our talk. I find this highly unfortunate because it means one of two things: You are either having more nightmares than you led me to believe, in which case we should seek help, or you are abusing the trust I gave you. In either case, it is time for us to have another talk. We will have our talk tomorrow night after dinner.  
  
Arthur Weasley.  
  
"Damn!" Harry swore to himself profusely, unconsciously glad that Hermione wasn't around to hear him. Now how was he going to get any sleep? He could tell the truth; that he couldn't sleep without having a drink because of the thoughts that kept whirling through his head when he was in Ron's room, Ron asleep and nothing else to divert him. And when he did sleep, nightmares woke him up almost at once.  
  
Harry felt an aversion to telling this. They were his problems, and besides, they might send him back to St. Mungo's and that was something he wanted to avoid at any cost, he hated that place even more then the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He would have to find his own solution.  
  
*****  
  
Morning came none too soon for Harry and he was already sitting at the kitchen table when Mrs. Weasley came down.  
  
"Harry dear, why are you up so early? Couldn't sleep?"  
  
"I slept fine, Mrs. Weasley," he lied. "I'm just a bit tense about the trial so I woke up early."  
  
Harry was glad Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking at him right then, because he doubted he was able to keep the lie from his face.  
  
"What would you like for breakfast, dear? Anything you want." Mrs. Weasley was apparently nervous as well.  
  
"Just some toast and pumpkin juice, please. I'm not really hungry." The nightmares Harry had had during the brief periods of sleep that had overcome him that night had robbed him of his appetite.  
  
"Are you sure, dear? I could make some scrambled eggs if you like. You'll need your strength today." Mrs. Weasley was sounding concerned.  
  
"Good morning, dear." Mr. Weasley stepped into the kitchen. He was one of those people who were in a good mood directly after waking up. It was too bad he hadn't passed it down to Ron, who needed a shower before he was fit to talk to.  
  
"Can I have some scrambled eggs and bacon, dear?"  
  
"Arthur Weasley, you are lucky you're not a Muggle because your arteries would have. oh never mind. Bacon and eggs, coming right up."  
  
*****  
  
The rest of the Weasley family came down one after another. When Harry was done with breakfast, half the scrambled eggs Mrs. Weasley had given him despite his protests were still on his plate.  
  
"Oy, Harry, can I have those?" Ron immediately claimed Harry's plate and started eating the remaining food.  
  
"Ronald Weasley, you can be such a pig at times," Hermione chided. Mrs. Weasley looked as if she couldn't decide between telling Ron off as well, or telling Hermione off for chiding Ron. That was her job.  
  
She finally decided to leave the entire matter be. "Harry dear, better go put on your formal robes. Professor Dumbledore will be here to escort us in about ten minutes."  
  
"It's really not necessary for you and the rest to come, Mrs. Weasley. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore can get me there just fine." Harry had tried to beg off the Weasley family from coming along before. He didn't want them to hear the entire story again. It would only serve to make them more protective and they were just now starting to relent.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it, dear. Of course we're coming."  
  
"Can't get rid of us that easily, mate," Ron chimed in, trying to put a little humour to the situation. All the members of the Weasley family had similar reactions. Harry knew it was a losing battle and went up to put on his formal robes.  
  
The robes were black. Not black, as his Hogwarts robes had been, but black as the night. They were also made of a much finer material and it seemed they had been made just for him. He could get used to clothes like this. All his life he had worn handed down clothes or school uniforms. Although he now had only two sets of Muggle clothes and one set of robes, they were better than anything he had worn before. He really should get more clothes when they went shopping.  
  
In the box were a black shirt and a pair of black pants as well. Harry thought it was all a bit dark, but when he looked into the mirror he saw that the combination made him look older, which had probably been the intention.  
  
When Harry came down he saw that Bill and Charlie had also arrived.  
  
"Good morning, Harry. Charlie and I figured we'd go to the trial with the family. Percy decided his work at the Ministry was too important and couldn't come along. Can you imagine? Important work. Percy? They have him stuck in the mailroom awaiting 'permanent reassignment'. Oh well, that's our little brother for you." Bill had a big grin on his face.  
  
Apparently the entire Weasley family had decided that Harry needed them at the trial. Or maybe it had been Mrs. Weasley that had decided it for them?  
  
At that moment Dumbledore stepped through the fireplace.  
  
"Good morning, everyone. Oh please, don't get up for an old man; absolutely unnecessary. Ah Harry, I see you're ready to go. Shall we?"  
  
"Wouldn't you like a cup of tea before we go, Professor?" Mrs. Weasley interjected.  
  
"Tempting as that sounds Molly, no thank you. I take it you are all coming along then? Well we mustn't be late." Dumbledore took a little box from his robes. "This is restricted access Floo powder. It will give us access to the fireplace of the prosecution councillor. Just say 'Ally Fish's office' when you step through. Bill and Charlie, I think you first? Then you, Molly, and then Arthur. Followed by Fred, George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Last will be Harry and I."  
  
Harry was somehow reminded of a movie he had once seen when the Dursleys had been away for the afternoon. The order in which everyone was going through seemed strategic to him, just as in the movie. There the main character had first sent in a strong reconnaissance force, followed by a strong backup. Then the most vulnerable people, followed by a strong rear.  
  
"Oh no, Ginny is not coming. She's much too young to go to a trial." Mrs. Weasley was clearly upset that Dumbledore had included Ginny.  
  
"But Mum."  
  
"No buts, young lady. That trial is no place for you. Think of all the things you might hear there."  
  
"While you had to be taken from the room, I heard Harry's entire story. If anyone should not be going, it's you, Mother." Ginny's face was now growing red with fury.  
  
At first Mrs. Weasley didn't know what to say, she opened and closed her mouth in silence, like a fish out of the water. Harry had never seen her so angry before. Just as she was about to say something, Mr. Weasley intervened: "Virginia Weasley, you will do what your mother says and there will be no further discussion. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Yes, father," Ginny said, she was now looking at her shoes, clearly ashamed of her words. Apparently Mr. Weasley didn't order his children often, but when he did, he was obeyed.  
  
"I'll go to the neighbours then," she said with the haughtiness and anger returned to her voice. She turned around and left the kitchen, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone.  
  
"Well, I never." Mrs. Weasley started.  
  
"Now dear, we all know how emotional this whole thing is. We should make allowances." Mr. Weasley was whispering to his wife now, but because of his position, Harry could hear him clearly.  
  
"Well, shall we?" At these words the mood in the room broke and everyone once more looked at Dumbledore.  
  
Bill went through the fireplace first, followed by Charlie. The rest followed one by one. Eventually only Harry and Dumbledore were left.  
  
"Now Harry, I don't know if you have to testify today, that's up to the Councillor and the Magistrate. If you have to testify, just tell the truth; it is more than enough. What I do know is that Vernon Dursley will be there, please try to remain calm. Alright?" Harry only nodded.  
  
"Then let us depart."  
  
Harry took some Floo powder from the box, threw it in the fire and yelled "Ally Fish's office".  
  
*****  
  
Harry stepped out of a fireplace in a beautiful office. Its walls were covered with bookcases filled with leather tomes. There was a large oak desk that dominated the room. Behind it was a leather chair and in that chair was. something of a disappointment. Harry expected this office to be occupied by an important looking, elderly man. Instead, a small woman sat in the chair. Her face had fine lines and its most noticeable feature was the sharp nose. When she stood Harry saw that even he towered over this woman, she was as small as he had been prior to the summer holidays. She was wearing a sand coloured robe that matched her hair.  
  
"Mr. Potter, how nice to finally meet you. I'm Ally Fish, councillor for the prosecution."  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Fish," Harry responded. Somehow he didn't think she was married. He was not corrected.  
  
"If I could speak to Mr. Potter in private?" Ally Fish showed the Weasleys, Dumbledore and Hermione to the door.  
  
"Please, sit down, Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry sat in comfortable leather chair. Ally Fish took the chair behind her desk again.  
  
"I have here a deposition as given to me by Albus Dumbledore. It is his report of events as described by you. Would you be so kind as to read it and tell me if there should be any adjustments? If not, please sign it so it can be entered into the trial records as your statement." While Harry was reading the deposition he was aware of Ms. Fish's eyes on him, she was observing him.  
  
"This is what happened." Harry stated simply.  
  
"Then would you be so kind as to sign it, Mr. Potter?" Ally Fish handed him a quill.  
  
"Please call me Harry, Mr. Potter is what my professors call me."  
  
"Only if you call me Ally," Ally's face had undergone a complete change, she was now smiling. "And here I thought you would be so high on your own fame you'd be an arrogant git."  
  
"To tell you the truth, I hate my fame. And you say what you think don't you?" Harry had to smile at the brutal honesty.  
  
"Only outside of the courtroom, Harry. Inside the courtroom I can be as smooth as glass. Now let us be totally honest. I need to know if you feel up to testifying today. If you don't, we can put it off till tomorrow."  
  
After some hesitation Harry answered: "I feel up to testifying. I want to see Vernon behind bars. He must not be permitted to harm anyone else." After these words Harry's voice began to waver and he stared at his shoes. "I'm not sure though, how I will react to the presence of my uncle." Harry felt shame at his cowardice. He was sure the disgust would be visible in Ally's eyes and therefore didn't dare look up.  
  
"Harry," her voice was surprisingly soft; Harry's eyes went up to hers, "there is nothing to be ashamed of. After what that man did to you I would only be worried if you felt nothing. If you don't feel up to testifying today, just say so, now or during the proceedings. There is one thing you have to remember though: Once you start your testimony, you can't stop. It would make a bad impression. I wouldn't worry too much, chances are, we won't get around to your testimony today."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"We'd better get going; the proceedings are due to start in fifteen minutes. I heard that there was a flock of reporters in and around the building. You'd better prepare for that."  
  
When Ally and Harry left Ally's office the rest were waiting for them.  
  
"I'll see you in the courtroom, Harry; I have to enter together with the Magistrate and the councillor for the defence."  
  
As Ally left, Dumbledore put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry, Harry, she might be a bit different, but she's as good as they come. I suggest we head towards the courtroom now."  
  
With Dumbledore as his guide Harry made his way towards the courtroom. They had a flock of redheads and one girl with bushy brown hair trailing them. When they entered the hall before the courtroom it was packed with reporters who swooped in on Harry and company birds of prey.  
  
"Mr. Potter, a few questions please." "Harry, a moment please."  
  
Immediately the Weasleys and Hermione formed a wall between Harry and the reporters. Dumbledore kept an assuring hand on Harry's shoulder and Harry had the feeling he was using magic to keep him calm.  
  
"Mr. Potter, do you hate your uncle?" "Harry, what do you think will happen here today?" "Harry, do you think Vernon Dursley should get the Dementor's kiss?" "Hermione, are you here today to support your boyfriend and does this mean you've broken up with Victor Krum?" "Mr. Potter, how is your mental health?" "Mr. Dumbledore, is it true that Harry Potter is your illegitimate great- grandson?" "Mr. Weasley, are you here as an official representative of the ministry?" "Harry." When the doors to the courtroom closed behind the group the yelling faded.  
  
The room was already filled with people. A large number of the group were obviously reporters, but they knew better then to shout questions or bother a witness, chances were they would be removed. On the front row several chairs had been reserved.  
  
"I see you counted on us, Albus." Mr. Weasley said in a somewhat muted voice.  
  
"The prerogative of an old man and teacher, Arthur," Dumbledore said, smiling.  
  
The room was much longer than it was wide and at the far end, only a few meters before the front end, was a large, heavy desk, slightly elevated. In the front of the desk a symbol was engraved; a book crossed with a wand.  
  
Behind the desk was another door. To the left side of the desk was a chair that had several clasps on it. To the sides were two smaller desks, both at a forty-five degree angle with the middle desk. Just in front of the first row was a single chair, facing the middle desk On the far wall was a portrait of a very grim looking Cornelius Fudge, the effect was lost however, by the green suit and bowler hat the minister was wearing. At either side of the portrait there were words engraved into the wall. They said: 'The law is the highest science' and 'The law is not justice'.  
  
When everyone had taken a seat, Harry was sitting in the middle with Ron and Hermione to either side. He felt like almost every eye in the room was on him, and he was probably right.  
  
Harry addressed Dumbledore, who was sitting next to Hermione: "Professor, this looks nothing like the court room I saw in your uhm."  
  
"In my Pensive, Mr. Potter. You may say it. You are quite correct. Those were different times. Back then there was a need for greater security at these kinds of things, and the proceedings were different as well. Back then almost no one was brave enough to convict a Death Eater on his or her own. The chance of retaliation was just too great. Therefore a council of law was convened and they decided the fate of the accused. These days, that is no longer necessary. The verdict lies with the presiding Magistrate. You could compare him with a Muggle judge, but his powers are much broader. His prime obligation is to get the truth out, and he make take a large scale of measures to make sure. One of them is the use of Veritaserum, although the laws on that subject are both strict and ambiguous."  
After several minutes a man dressed in black robes stepped in.  
  
"All please rise for Magistrate Mundungus Fletcher, Councillor Ally Fish for the prosecution and Councillor Charles McDourn for the defence."  
  
Through the door behind the middle desk a man appeared. He was followed by Ally and then another man. When all three were positioned behind their desks, Ally to the right hand side of the Magistrate, the man to his left hand side, the Magistrate spoke: "Please be seated."  
  
His voice was deep and warm with a bit of impatience. The Magistrate had lightly greying hair that had originally been black; his build was powerful, like that of a professional wrestler. His face bore lines of worry and responsibility but his eyes were very much alive, they seemed to be looking straight through you. His attire had obviously been put on last minute and was somewhat wrinkly.  
  
The man to his left hand side was almost his exact opposite. The man had blond hair and a slender build. His face was pretty rather than handsome, and his eyes were a cool grey. The robes he wore were immaculate and clearly of high quality. Harry was reminded of Malfoy. This was the councillor for the defence.  
  
"Professor, isn't Mundungus Fletcher a."  
  
"Yes Harry, Mundungus is a friend of mine. I have to tell you though, that friendship will not in any way influence his judgement. Mundungus is honest to the point of being flawed.  
  
"This court is now in session. Before the judgement of this office is brought Vernon Dursley, Adept. Please bring in the accused."  
  
The door through which Harry had entered opened and Vernon Dursley was brought in by two large wizards, one holding some kind of leash that was connected to Vernon's neck; the other had his wand trained on Vernon. Vernon was escorted to the front of the courtroom and placed in the chair.  
  
"Because of his violent behaviour and the nature of the accusation the accused will now be restrained." And with a wave of the Magistrate's wand the clasps on the chair closed over Vernon's legs and arms.  
  
The emotions playing on Vernon's face were everything ranging from deep- seated fear and panic to hate and loathing, each following the other so quickly it was hard to tell the difference.  
  
"You can't keep me here. You don't have the right. I'm a citizen of the United Kingdom and I have rights. KEEP AWAY FROM ME, YOU FREAKS."  
  
"I assure you, Mr. Dursley, that this court has every right to judge you for your alleged crimes and that it is fully recognized and upheld by Her Majesty's government of the United Kingdom. If there are no further objections." The magistrate's monotone voice was now interrupted by Vernon Dursley's high pitch squeal.  
  
"I demand a lawyer!"  
  
"You have a 'lawyer' Mr. Dursley, Mr McDourn is councillor for the defence and will represent you." The magistrate was beginning to show signs of agitation.  
  
"I want a real lawyer, not one of you freaks. What do you."  
"Silencio."  
  
"Let it be noted in the records that I have silenced the accused for the good of these proceedings. Any objections?" The magistrate's voice was now monotone again.  
  
"I would like to enter into the records that Vernon Dursley has had very little prior experience with our world and that this should be seen as extenuating circumstances." The defence councillor's voice was as smooth as his face.  
  
"So noted." The magistrate continued: "let it be known to all present that Vernon Dursley stands accused of the torture of Harry Potter, also known as the Boy Who Lived. This torture was conducted in part by means of a wand."  
  
"The Prosecution would like to introduce the wand in question as evidence at this time," Ally said.  
  
"Objection, My Lord, Priori Incantatum has clearly shown that the last spell preformed by this wand was a simple locking spell. There is no direct evidence that this wand was used for anything else," the smooth voice of the defence councillor came.  
  
"My Lord, I have here the sworn testimony of Remus Lupin that he saw Vernon Dursley use this wand as a means of torture and that he himself removed this wand from Dursley's hand. Furthermore, I have here a sworn statement from Mr. Ollivander of Ollivander Wands that this is in fact Mr. Potter's wand. Finally, I have here Mr. Potter's sworn statement concerning the use of that wand. All these statements have been noted in the trial records. All three are available to testify if so desired," Ally countered.  
  
"My Lord, these are testimonies made by a known werewolf and an underage boy whose mental health is in question."  
  
"Objection overruled. The wand may be entered as evidence. Councillor McDourn, I must warn you against making judgements for which you are not qualified. Please refrain from questioning Mr. Potter's mental health except in the presence of an expert witness. The prosecution may make its opening statement." The Magistrate's voice made clear that he would accept no argument.  
  
Ally stood and began: "The prosecution will show that Vernon Dursley is indeed guilty of the torture by magical means of Harry Potter. We will furthermore show that this torture was of such a nature and extended period of time that its like has seldom been recorded in recent history. The nature of this crime is all the more heinous if you take into account that the only purpose of said torture was the personal pleasure of Vernon Dursley. The prosecution will demand life imprisonment at the wizard's prison of Azkaban." Ally used her voice like an instrument, stressing certain words so as to make the accusation all the more terrible.  
  
"The defence may make its opening statement," the unemotional voice of the Magistrate sounded. Harry wondered if the man felt anything at all. He himself had wanted to run from the room every time the crime had been mentioned.  
  
Hermione had gripped his hand when McDourn had made the allegations about his mental health and Harry found a little comfort and courage there.  
  
McDourn stood just as Ally had done, but before he started he smooth his robes, which where already flawless.  
  
"The defence will clearly show that Vernon Dursley is not to be blamed for any alleged harm done to Mr. Potter. We will clearly show that Mr. Dursley, who is an upstanding member of the Muggle community, is not capable of magic. We will further show that any non-magical harm done to Mr. Potter has been done under extenuating circumstances. He was provoked," at this last statement a murmur with a strong sense of outrage filled the room. "He was provoked by none other than Harry Potter."  
  
The murmur now changed in tone and volume. Anger was clear on several faces, and Ron looked like he wanted to kill McDourn.  
  
"Silence, SILENCE!" the magistrate roared, "if this courtroom is not silent I will cast a silencing spell." Slowly the crowd settled down.  
  
"The prosecution may present its case."  
  
"The prosecution calls its first witness, Doctor A. Windsor."  
  
A man rose from the audience and walked to the front, once there he sat in the chair.  
  
The Magistrate intoned: "Do you vow to speak truthfully before this office, to speak no lies and to withhold no truths?"  
  
"I do," the doctor said.  
  
"Does the prosecution or the defence feel there is a necessity for Veritaserum?"  
  
"No, My Lord," both councillors replied in solemn voices.  
  
"This office sees no need for Veritaserum. Let it be so noted in the records. The prosecution may begin."  
  
"Please state your name and occupation for the record." Ally began.  
  
"Windsor, Alexander. Doctor at St. Mungo's Hospital, specializing in magical trauma."  
  
"Doctor, are you qualified to make judgements about magical injuries, especially magical torture?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Does the defence agree?" the Magistrate asked.  
  
"The defence has no objection."  
  
"Did you examine Mr. Potter after his condition had been discovered?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"In your expert opinion, was Mr. Potter's condition due to torture by magical means?"  
  
"Beyond any doubt."  
  
"Would you please describe the nature and severity of Mr. Potter's condition?"  
  
As the Doctor began to detail the extent of Harry's condition, Harry's own attention wavered.  
  
For the first time in a week, at least from Harry's point of view, he was in the same room as Vernon. Harry saw that Vernon was looking straight at him, his eyes filled with hate.  
  
Determined not to be the one to look away first, Harry kept eye contact. He was reminded of all the times he had seen those eyes filled with the same hate. The times they had been filled with ecstasy, while he was hurting him. Anger filled Harry. He felt something inside him stir. It roared upwards searching for a way out. Remembering Dumbledore's admonishments, Harry tried to keep it under control. He could not help it flashing in his eyes though, and suddenly Vernon Dursley was as white as a bed sheet, and the vile man quickly averted his eyes.  
  
"Calm yourself, Harry." It was Dumbledore. Harry sensed the anger and magic being drained away and felt its loss. He returned his attention to the proceedings.  
  
"Doctor Windsor," it was now McDourn's turn, "are you an expert on mental health?"  
  
"Please be more specific in your question councillor McDourn. There is no such thing as an expert on mental health," Dr. Windsor replied with a condescending smile.  
  
"Let me rephrase then. Are you qualified to make any judgements about the effects of torture by magical means, as you and councillor Fish have described, on a person's mind?"  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"What would be the most likely outcome of torture given the extent and nature you have just described?"  
  
"Death."  
  
"And barring death?"  
  
Here Dr. Windsor hesitated. He knew exactly where this line of questioning was going; he had seen it before.  
  
"The most likely outcome barring death would be insanity, but I assure you Mr. Potter is not insane."  
  
"How can you be sure? According to your deposition -that has, by the way, been entered into the trial records, My Lord- you did not have time to examine Mr. Potter fully. He was taken away prematurely by Albus Dumbledore. My Lord, the defence moves that there is reasonable doubt concerning the mental health of Mr. Potter and his testimony should therefore be disregarded."  
  
"I shall keep it under advisement. A ruling on this matter will be postponed until I see fit, let it be so noted." The Magistrate let his gaze wander towards Harry. Being accused of mental instability was not doing wonders for Harry's self-confidence, but he met the Magistrate's eyes and forced himself to keep calm.  
  
"I have no further questions, My Lord." McDourn gracefully took his seat.  
  
"Does the prosecution have any questions?"  
  
"Only two, My Lord. Dr. Windsor, in the time you were able observe Mr. Potter, did you detect any physical brain damage?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And did you or your staff observe any behaviour that might lead you to think Mr. Potter is not mentally healthy?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Depositions of all the staff on Mr. Potter's ward have been entered into the trial record. They are all in accordance with Dr. Windsor's statement on this matter."  
  
"So noted, the prosecution may call its next witness after lunch." The first testimony had taken all morning, Harry had barely noticed.  
*****  
  
The next witness was Mr. Ollivander. His testimony was clearly a pre-emptive strike by Ally. She wanted to make sure McDourn would not be able to stress the fact that there was no sign that the wand had been used for dark magic, which torture certainly was.  
  
Mr. Ollivander was followed by several investigators and Aurors. They described the investigation of the crime scene (or alleged crime scene as McDourn stated) in great detail and gave a list of physical evidence they had found, including Harry's blood.  
  
One of the Aurors stated: "We all know what happened to the Longbottoms. What Mr. Potter went through was just as bad and much longer. I would like to say I have the greatest admiration for his strength and his courage. No one else would have survived, let alone be here today. I saw Mr. Potter before he was transported to St. Mungo's and saw what had been done to him. This monster," and with that he pointedly looked at Vernon, "can not be considered human and therefore should be killed like the rabid dog he is."  
  
"I object, My Lord. This kind of talk has no place in a courtroom, and certainly not about a man whose guilt is far from proven," McDourn called out dramatically.  
  
*****  
  
The last witness of the day was Remus Lupin. He described what he had found when he floo-ed to Privet Drive. How he had tied up Vernon Dursley, taken the wand from his hand and called for help for Harry.  
  
McDourn tried to discredit Remus' testimony.  
  
"Mr. Lupin, how can you be sure it was this wand," and with that he showed the room Harry's wand, "that you took from Mr. Dursley? One wand looks much like another if you don't know it."  
  
"I was Harry's teacher for a year and tutored him on occasion, he is my late, best friend's son and that is not the most usual of wands. I know it, Mr. McDourn, without a doubt."  
  
"Mr. Lupin you are a known Werewolf, surely you must admit."  
  
Lupin interrupted: "I am a Werewolf only three nights a month, Mr. McDourn, I fail to see how it would have any effect on this matter."  
  
McDourn tried to argue with Lupin on this point but the Magistrate intervened.  
  
"Councillor McDourn, it is not Mr. Lupin who is on trial here. His record is spotless and there will be no further implications made. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Yes, My Lord." McDourn made a few more attempts to discredit Lupin but the Werewolf line had clearly been his main attack.  
  
*****  
  
"This court will be in recess until tomorrow morning. The prosecution has informed me that we will then hear the testimony of Mr. Potter. He shall be the last witness for the prosecution barring unforeseen circumstances. The defence shall begin its case the day after. Court dismissed."  
  
They waited till most of the room had emptied. Magistrate Fletcher and Councillor McDourn went out the door they had entered through. Ally, however, approached the group.  
  
"I'll escort you to my office; you can use the fireplace there. I need to have a short talk with Harry as well."  
  
When they left the courtroom there were still a few reporters there. The Weasleys once again formed up around Harry, making sure no reporter got to him. Harry was actually getting used to the continuous barrage of questions, although he doubted he would ever find them normal. He was at least now able to ignore them.  
  
"Reporters, they're all bad news," Hermione muttered. She was walking next to Harry.  
  
"Whatever did you do with Rita Skeeter anyway? I saw she was writing again."  
  
"Well, I released her. I didn't have time for her once you. well, I released her anyway, after she promised not to write anymore slander. I read her articles and they're borderline, but she doesn't make any unfounded accusations and the questions she poses are genuine."  
  
"She questioned my sanity," Harry said in a cold voice.  
  
"I know, Harry, and although I don't doubt it, it is a legitimate question after what happened to you. I like it as little as you, but we have to remain fair."  
  
"I say we turn her in." Harry's tone was tinged with vengefulness.  
  
"I'm not sure. If we do, we might lose a valuable resource. Think what we could do with our information on her. Maybe we should talk to Dumbledore about it."  
  
At that moment they arrived at Ally's office. The Weasleys, with the exception of Fred and George, used her fireplace to Floo back to the Burrow. Fred and George ran off just before their mother stepped through the fireplace. "We forgot something, be home in about half an hour."  
  
"Fred, George you come to the Burrow now or." were the only words Mrs. Weasley got out before she disappeared.  
  
"Hope she got home okay," Ron said and followed.  
  
Hermione stayed behind at Ally's request.  
  
"Now, Harry, there are some things we need to talk about," Ally began. "Tomorrow you'll be testifying and I can assure you that McDourn will do anything in his power to discredit your testimony. His tactic is clear in this case. He can't disprove Dursley's guilt so he will try to create as much confusion as possible, hence making it almost impossible for the Magistrate to come to a clear decision. The only thing you have to do is keep a cool head, give straight and simple answers and try to appear as sane as possible."  
  
"Appear sane?" Harry asked, a hint of anger in his voice.  
  
"Oh Harry, you know what Ms. Fish means. You've heard what McDourn said earlier and how he treated Professor... I mean, Remus, he was absolutely terrible," Hermione admonished.  
  
"She's quite right, Harry. But what you have to remember is this: You have the public opinion in your favour. If you can keep calm while McDourn is being an ass," at this profanity by Ally, Hermione gave her a withering glare while Harry had a small smile, "you will score a lot of points with both the Magistrate and the public."  
  
Ally now turned to Hermione. "Now for the reason I asked you to stay, Hermione. It may be necessary to have a character witness for Harry. Even though you're a minor, your record is spotless and your reputation as the smartest witch in Hogwarts for over a century precedes you. Most importantly, you know Harry best."  
  
"Why not let Ron testify then? He's Harry's other best friend," Hermione asked.  
  
"Well, first of all, he doesn't have your reputation. Second is: I know the Weasley temper. I went to Hogwarts with Bill, although I doubt he remembers me, I was a Ravenclaw. Thirdly, he isn't Harry's boy- or girlfriend, you are."  
  
"No I'm not. Honestly, why people believe anything Rita Skeeter writes I will never understand. Harry and I are just good friends."  
  
Ally gave Harry a questioning look, Harry only nodded.  
  
"You're not his girlfriend?" Ally asked Hermione.  
  
"No," both answered simultaneously.  
  
"Are you sure? I mean, it was in the papers last year. And I saw you two holding hands during session."  
  
"That story was a lie. And Harry is my friend; I think I can hold his hand if he needs me without it meaning anything." Hermione blushed.  
  
"Well. it doesn't actually matter. Maybe it's even better. A girlfriend wouldn't be seen as unbiased. Besides, we don't have to stress it that much."  
  
Harry gave Ally a glare that clearly impressed his thoughts about lying on this subject. Ally thought it better to change the subject.  
  
"Tomorrow you have the afternoon off. I don't think Harry's testimony will last more than a few hours and Hermione's testimony, if any, shouldn't last more than half an hour. I'll see you then."  
  
With that she walked Harry and Hermione to the fireplace. Hermione took a pinch of Floo powder from an elegant golden box.  
  
She yelled: "The Burrow," and disappeared.  
  
"Try to get a good night's sleep tonight, Harry. Oh, one more thing. If you plan to go to Diagon Alley, tomorrow or any other day for that matter, you might want to disguise yourself a bit. Until this trial is over you are very much in the public's interest. You will be recognized and people will want to talk to you. Think about it."  
  
"See you tomorrow morning, Ally." Harry threw Floo powder into the fire and stepped through while yelling: "The Burrow."  
A/N If you wish to be notified of the next update just leave your email address with your review. Thank you to all of you who took the time to review, I really appreciate it.  
  
Traveller 


	11. Chapter X

A/N This is by so far my favourite chapter. I would be really disappointed if I didn't get a lot of reviews for this one. Read! Enjoy! Review!  
  
Chapter X  
  
At the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had already started dinner.  
  
"Want to play a quick game of Quidditch before dinner, Harry?" Ron immediately asked.  
  
"Dinner is in 15 minutes," Mrs. Weasley said while continuing dinner, "no time for Quidditch. Harry dear, why don't you go change?  
  
Ron, Hermione - there's pumpkin juice in the cooler. Why don't you go sit on the porch for a while?"  
  
Harry went upstairs and took off his formal robes. He put on his Khaki pants but since it was a warm day he decided against the sweater but instead kept on the shirt.  
  
When he walked onto the porch he saw Hermione and Ron bickering over something unimportant once more. Did those two have feelings for each other that exceeded friendship, he sometimes wondered?  
  
After last year's Yule ball he had suspected something of that nature, at least with respects to Ron.  
  
Hermione and Ron were both great people, great friends, but somehow Harry doubted they would make it as a couple, they were just too contrary to each other, and not in a good way.  
  
Ron and Hermione as a couple; that brought some images to mind Harry could have done without. Their first kiss would probably be hilarious. Ron would try at exactly the wrong moment, of that Harry was sure, he knew his friend. And then Hermione would insist on first doing some research.  
  
"What are you staring at, mate? Come get some pumpkin juice." Ron was looking at Harry with a worried expression. Quickly Harry walked over to them and poured himself a pumpkin juice.  
  
"So, what did you think of today's events?" Harry asked to take the attention away from him.  
  
"Well, I think it went really well," Hermione began, "especially when the Magistrate wouldn't let McDourn badger Prof. I mean Remus, about being a werewolf."  
  
"Takes getting used to, doesn't it? Calling a professor by his first name," Ron smiled. "You worried about tomorrow, Harry?"  
  
"Not really, I figure Professor Dumbledore will be helping me to keep calm, just like the first time I told you all."  
  
"HE DID WHAT?" Ron exclaimed. "That's illegal!"  
  
"It is?"  
  
"Oh yes," Hermione started off in her lecture tone. "Tampering with emotions falls under mind control spells, you know, like Imperius. It was outlawed in 1905 by the Wizard's Council because of the."  
  
"It's illegal, I get it," Harry interrupted. "He had reason, I trust Dumbledore."  
  
"Of course, I'm sure it was in your best interest, Harry." Hermione looked a bit queasy about it despite her words and she was biting on her lower lip. Harry understood, he felt the same; on one hand he trusted Dumbledore implicitly, on the other hand, illegal magic had been used on him.  
  
Before Harry could give it too much thought, Fred and George arrived. Glad for the distraction, he looked up and saw two identical grins plastered on two identical faces.  
  
"Why do I get the feeling you two have been up to something?" Harry said with a knowing smile.  
  
"We're hurt, aren't we, George?" Fred replied with mock outrage.  
  
"Yes, we are; why you would think we've been up to something is beyond me."  
  
"Experience," Ron snorted.  
  
"Our own dear brother is accusing us, I'm not sure I'll survive the heartache." Fred grabbed his chest and swooned against George.  
  
"Look at what you've done, giving Fred a heart attack. Have you no shame?" George cried out, keeping an amazingly straight face.  
  
"None whatsoever; must be a family trait," Ron bit back.  
  
"Dinner's ready," came from the kitchen, forestalling any other remarks.  
  
****  
  
Late at night Harry still lay awake. He had short bouts of sleep, but all had been disturbed by nightmares. Vernon was still the main figure in most of his dreams, but Cedric Diggory, accusing Harry of his death, was there as well. Sometimes the two combined and his mind came up with whole new and disturbing scenarios.  
  
There had only been one dream about Voldemort; somehow he had been pushed to the background. The one dream had been a very vivid one though. It was the kind of dream that usually gave Harry pain in his scar, but there had been no pain this time. Now that he thought about it, he'd had no pain in his scar for a while, not since he had been at 4 Privet Drive.  
  
Did this mean that Voldemort was lying low? Out of the country even? Or was the connection gone, now that the Dark Lord had been fully restored?  
  
The last was not true, of that Harry felt certain. He remembered having scar pains at Privet Drive and before that at Hogwarts. The thing was that they were not as painful as what Vernon had done, and therefore not as important at the time.  
  
Harry tried to remember what those dreams had been about, but only had a general impression of blood, pain and Dark Magic.  
  
What had this night's dream been about? It was strange, he could only vaguely remember, for the dream being so vivid, the memory slipping from him quickly. He could only remember a small part, a conversation, the voices disembodied:  
  
"I say we strike now, my Lord, while they are weak and ill prepared."  
  
"I know that is what you want my servant, but I am also ill prepared. Spending all those years without a body has weakened me, and my attempts to gain strength so far have not brought me that which I seek. While I am still stronger than most wizards, I am loath to admit I am not as strong as that Muggle loving fool, Dumbledore. I need time to build up my reserves."  
  
"Then let your servants pave your way to glory, my Lord. We can take out the Ministry easily. The Wizards' Council is still unbalanced; if you wish it, the Ministry could fall tomorrow. Soon after, Dumbledore will be isolated and vulnerable."  
  
"Lucius, you know very well that the old man has worked hard since my last rise. He has agents and resources in many places. My Death Eaters have weakened. Those that are still here are mostly cowards and fools, too insignificant to be noticed by those bunglers at, what calls itself, the Ministry. Convincing the Dementors, giants and other dark creatures to come to my side takes time. I am content to sit here, infiltrate and plot."  
  
"But my Lord."  
  
"I have said all I am going to say on the matter. Be silent."  
  
"We could."  
  
"No one questions my judgement. Crucio!"  
  
Had this been a vision? Harry was in doubt. There were telltale signals that it had been so. but so many things didn't add up. Why had there been no pain? Why had he not seen anything? Why could he only remember part of the dream while still knowing it had been so real to him?  
  
There was little chance of getting any sleep soon. Harry decided to go downstairs; he could read, or just stare into the remains of the fire that would have probably died down by now. Listening to Ron sleep was no option.  
  
He walked downstairs and into the living room, it was, however, not empty.  
  
Mr. Weasley was sitting there, doing what Harry had intended; he was staring into the glowing coals before him, lost in thought.  
  
Just when Harry had decided to turn around and go back upstairs, Mr. Weasley spoke up:  
  
"Don't keep standing there, Harry, sit down."  
  
Slowly Harry walked towards the second couch, which was on a ninety degree angle with the couch on which Mr. Weasley was sitting.  
  
"I figured that you wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, more the any other night. Trials have a way of bringing back bad memories; I know." Slowly Mr. Weasley turned his head towards Harry who was now sitting.  
  
"As I said in my note, it is time we had a talk."  
  
Mr. Weasley sighed deeply and began: "That first night I figured you had trouble sleeping some nights. That isn't quite true, is it?" Mr. Weasley stared at Harry sharply. "You have trouble sleeping most nights."  
  
Harry remained silent. He didn't want to complain about his problems; they were, after all, his problems.  
  
"I used to have the same problem you do, Harry. Not being able to bring yourself to talk about the horrors you've seen. Not wanting to burden others. And finally, not being able to show your innermost fears, to make yourself vulnerable."  
  
Mr. Weasley reached beside his seat and picked up a bottle that had been standing there. Two glasses followed. After Mr. Weasley had filled them, he handed Harry a glass.  
  
"Let me tell you what the consequences of your behaviour will be."  
  
He downed his glass, gesturing for Harry to do the same. Then he began in an even, sombre tone.  
  
"Let me tell you a story about an Unspeakable. Don't ask me what he did for the Department of Mysteries, I can't tell you. He was good at what he did. He captured many a Death Eater and he was a devil with his wand. But no matter how many Death Eaters he arrested, there were always more. These Death Eaters committed crimes so terrible that even now, some of them are classified. This Unspeakable was often the first on the scene and was witness to many horrors. He found the victims of torture, both Muggle and wizard. Often they were alive but dying, and many died with only him for comfort." The glasses were again filled and again drained before Mr. Weasley continued.  
  
"In the Muggle world there would have been a psychiatrist to talk to; unfortunately, the wizarding world knows no such concept.  
  
Where to turn? His colleagues? They mostly had the same problems.  
  
He had a family; a wife, two sons, one of whom was only a baby. This was not the time to bother her; if anything, she should be leaning on him. So he kept his troubles to himself.  
  
When he woke up at night because of nightmares, he learnt not to scream so as not to disturb his family. When he saw something particularly disturbing he would take an extra drink and keep a stiff upper lip. All very proper.  
  
It started to eat him up on the inside. Nightmares were more and more frequent and more and more distressing. He developed a paranoid streak and his temper was terrible.  
  
Then came the inevitable, he had a breakdown.  
  
Unable to function as an Unspeakable, he was transferred to another department and given a lighter working assignment.  
  
Then and only then, he learned to open up. It was not something he learned by himself but a lesson forced upon him by his wife and his circumstances.  
  
He was never the same, but at least he didn't go completely crazy. Time healed much, but not all." In silence, Mr. Weasley refilled the glasses. After drinking it, he continued.  
  
"Learn this lesson early, Harry, and learn it well. Find someone to talk to; you are not alone in the world. 'No man is an Island' as a Muggle author once said. Always remember that there is only so much one person can do; don't feel guilty about things you have no influence over; and don't feel responsible for the acts of others."  
  
After this Mr. Weasley rose from his couch and headed for the stairs.  
  
"Don't stay up too late, Harry."  
  
"Who was that Unspeakable, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
Mr. Weasley turned his head towards Harry; he was sporting a small smile, "if I told you that, I'd have to kill you, Harry." Mr. Weasley started up the stairs. "Oh, and Harry, I think it's about time you started calling me Arthur. You're hardly a child anymore."  
  
Mr. Weasley had left the bottle. As Harry poured himself another glass he pondered Mr. Wea. Arthur's words. The gist of what he had said was to open up to someone. But who?  
  
Ron? No, he didn't have the emotional maturity for this. His friend would listen, but then not know what too do, and feel guilty for it.  
  
Maybe not one of his friends, but an adult?  
  
He didn't feel comfortable approaching Dumbledore with this; it was quite obvious that it was he who would have to lead the war efforts. Fudge was an incompetent.  
  
Mr. Weasley obviously had his own problems, best not to bother him.  
  
The same went for Sirius and Remus; although they wouldn't mind, Harry did not think it wise to distract them.  
  
His thoughts turned back to his friends.  
  
Hermione perhaps? She had listened to him before and given him some of the comfort he needed.  
  
Unfortunately, Harry had felt the strain it had put on her; she had been close to tears that night. The idea was considered and than disregarded. He would not hurt Hermione, never.  
  
The image of Ginny flashed before his eyes but was dismissed as fast as it had appeared. She was Ron's little sister and he barely knew her in many ways. Besides, Harry felt as if there was something unresolved; something he should remember but couldn't.  
  
Harry couldn't sleep for several more hours. Images of the trial kept running through his head making him relive the actual events at Privet Drive.  
  
Steadily he drank on, glass after glass, until the bottle was only a quarter full. Finally he fell asleep on the couch, only because of a combination of pure exhaustion and alcohol.  
  
*****  
  
"Harry.." A faint voice sounded in his sleep.  
  
"Wake up, boy!"  
  
With a scream of pure terror Harry roused from his sleep. Before he could jump up from the couch two hands held him down. In his fear, Harry blindly tried to lash out, but was physically restrained; he tried to use magic, but it slipped from him like water.  
  
"Easy dear, it was just a nightmare. Come on, wake up, Harry. Easy does it."  
  
Slowly Harry became aware of his surroundings. Mrs. Weasley was holding him down. He was on the couch at The Burrow. For a moment when he had been between sleeping and waking he had heard Vernon's voice; it had been so real that Harry had been convinced he had been back at Privet Drive.  
  
"Why don't you take a shower, dear? You look like you could use one. I'll have your breakfast ready when you get down." Mrs. Weasley had a concerned look on her face.  
  
As Harry made his way to the bathroom he could still hear Vernon's voice.  
  
"Wake up, boy"  
  
It had been his habit to wake Harry with his wand on those rare occasions Harry had been asleep. It had made Harry a very nervous sleeper. To sleep was to be vulnerable.  
  
Stepping into the bathroom, Harry started to undress. He turned on the shower. Stretching, he felt the aches in his muscles that reminded him he had spent the night on a couch. He turned down the cold water until it was off. Slowly he felt the heat seep into his muscles. As he stood there, his head leaning against the wall, he relaxed, feeling the fatigue receding a bit.  
  
After his shower Harry got dressed. The mirror was once again fogged up, but since Harry's hair was truly unmanageable this did not matter to him. What bothered Harry was the fact that he was once more wearing the same clothes, even if they had been partially cleaned by the bathroom-charms. He had to do something about that soon. The only thing left to do was a quick visit to the medicine cabinet.  
  
*****  
  
In the kitchen Mrs. Weasley had started on breakfast.  
  
"Take a seat, Harry dear. I've made you some scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Oh, and you have to drink that potion I set on the table for you, doctor's orders."  
  
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley." Harry took a sip of the potion; it was vile.  
  
"Tastes like something Snape would make," Harry muttered under his breath.  
  
"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Harry got the impression she already knew.  
  
"Nothing, I was just wondering where the rest were?" Harry replied quickly, and then swiftly gulped down the rest of the potion, trying not to taste it.  
  
"They're not up yet, dear. Fred should be getting up right about now. He's usually the third to get up, but I think Arthur will have a bit of a lie in. He was up late last night."  
  
At that moment a voice shouted: "Oy, who fogged up the bathroom? This place is supposed to be charmed, but I've never seen it this bad."  
  
"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley sighed, "something must be wrong with the charms. Arthur will have to fix that later and check the other charms. We wouldn't want to have to take a shower with cold water, now would we?"  
  
"I'm afraid it's actually my fault, Mrs. Weasley. I took a hot shower."  
  
"Nonsense dear, the charms should handle that."  
  
Harry did not contradict her words but still thought that maybe he was at fault.  
  
Quietly he ate his breakfast until realisation struck like a sledge hammer: He had neglected to put away the bottle last night, it must still be standing next to the couch. From the corner of his eyes he looked at Mrs. Weasley to see if she behaved differently somehow. Nothing was apparent.  
  
Quickly he finished his breakfast.  
  
"What's the hurry, dear? Dumbledore is not due for almost an hour. You can take your time," Mrs. Weasley admonished.  
  
"I know, Mrs. Weasley, but I ehh. wanted to take a walk outside. Clear my head before we get stuck in that courtroom," Harry improvised.  
  
"Good idea, dear."  
  
As soon as he could, Harry left the breakfast table. When he walked into the living room he saw that the bottle and the glass he had used were gone. Mrs. Weasley must have put them away. Oh dear Merlin, what was he going to do? Not knowing what to do, Harry went outside via the front door; he did not want to look Mrs. Weasley in the eye right now.  
  
It was still early; Harry judged it to be no later then 6.30 in the morning. He walked past the small fence that surrounded The Burrow and headed toward the stream near the strangely built house.  
  
Harry's thoughts kept raging. What was he going to do? Mr. Weasley, or Arthur as he should now call him, had specifically said that Mrs. Weasley would take it badly if she found out.  
  
His thoughts spinning and his stomach in turmoil, Harry crossed the wooden plank that served as a bridge across the stream. While he walked through the English countryside his thoughts kept turning, trying to find a solution, an explanation, an excuse, anything. On he walked; passing peaceful meadows, ignoring the cows who vied for his attention.  
  
Harry did not notice how far he walked and suddenly he had the sensation of walking through a barrier. There was no resistance, only a sensation; like the wind blowing over the hairs on his arms, but there was no wind. From the corner of his eyes he saw what he could only describe as the echo of light - there, but not there. He thought he heard a faint crackling sound, like the discharging of static electricity, but there were no sparks.  
  
Too distraught to really care he continued walking, oblivious to the peacefulness that surrounded him. He now felt fear compliment his worry. What if Mrs. Weasley threw him out of the house? And what would Hermione say? Suddenly her opinion seemed to matter a great deal. And what would Arthur think? He would be disappointed; maybe feel that his trust had been violated. But what other choice did he have? He needed sleep and he had no other means. Anger reared in the back of his head.  
  
Who were they to judge? They didn't know what he had been through. Voldemort, Vernon, not to mention those smaller pests like an ancient basilisk and Death Eater professors. Did they know the hardships he had faced? The nightmares that had resulted? . The guilt he felt.  
  
The world was not fair. All he wanted was to be normal, or at least as normal as any wizard could be; to blend in, have some friends and maybe be loved by some. maybe even someone special. But no, he had to be Harry -bloody- Potter, The Boy Who lived. He had to have a Dark Lord after his blood and he had to be the Hero of the wizarding world.  
  
Perfect Potter, Malfoy had once named him. The git had no idea what it was like.  
  
How could he live up to those expectations? He was only human. Did they really expect a fifteen year old boy to defeat the most powerful Dark Lord ever? No, he just wanted his life back, his parents, HIS RIGHT TO A NORMAL EXISTENCE!  
  
With every thought Harry's anger built until he saw red before his eyes and he was ready to scream his anger at the injustice that was his life.  
  
But instead of a scream, Harry felt something different build inside him. From inside his very being his anger seemed to take solid form. Its form was that of a raging white light. Far from the tranquil white light he had experienced before, this was a storm without equal.  
  
Harry was torn between fear and elation, between trying to contain it and welcoming it.  
  
He felt it rise and every thought of containing it evaporated from his mind, he only felt the need of it.  
  
This was what would allow him to carve out his own life, his own happiness. This was true power. This was his storm. On and on Harry summoned the thing that had built inside of him, urging it to greater heights. Every pent up emotion he had created an unstoppable torrent within his soul.  
  
He could feel the approaching release and he welcomed the pain that came with it, for it was both exhilarating and a proper punishment for his failures.  
  
Closer and closer the raging magic came to the surface until with a roar that originated from deep within Harry, a roar of anger and pain, it was finally released from his system.  
  
He could feel the magic pouring from him as if there was no end to it, no limit.  
  
This was power. This was his birthright; Harry felt this certainty in his very bones. It was ecstasy, it was torture, but above all, it was his.  
  
On and on it came. And like a raging river that swept away everything in its path, so did this powerful combination of emotion and magic sweep away all conscious thought until there was only Harry and his magic.  
  
But slowly and certainly the power that flowed from him relented, its well dried out. It was both a relief and agony and he moaned for its loss.  
  
The sensation of so much power had been wonderful, addictive even. but it had also frightened him to his very foundation, something he had not noticed during his release.  
  
When the flow finally ceased completely Harry noticed that he was on his knees with his head resting on the ground. He was crying uncontrollably. He sat there for several minutes, crying, pouring out his anger and grief; not with magic and rage, but with tears. He felt weak and exhausted.  
  
*****  
  
"Harry." a ragged voice sounded in front of him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Harry." the same voice came again, not certain of what to say.  
  
As he looked up Harry saw his godfather kneeling in front of him. He threw himself against him and continued crying, not able to stop.  
  
"It'll be alright, I promise," Sirius said, but even through all the emotions he was experiencing, Harry heard the lie. He had also seen what had been in Sirius' eyes. Worry, yes, and love, but also a tinge of fear and desperation.  
  
Slowly, as the worst of the tears subsided, Harry opened his eyes and saw the destruction he had wrought over Sirius' shoulder. In a radius of at least seventy-five meters everything had been destroyed.  
  
Trees had been uprooted and grass had been burned to a crisp. At the edge of the destruction Harry saw the start of a low stone wall that followed the small road he had been walking on. He realised that it must have been destroyed up 'til there.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry," Sirius said, his voice hoarse and trembling. He was still holding Harry against him and for the first time Harry noticed his godfather was shaking.  
  
Slowly Harry leaned back and saw the tears in Sirius' eyes to match his own. "Why, Sirius? This is my fault," he said, not understanding.  
  
"For not being there for you after your parents died. For not getting you away from Vernon Dursley. For not being there for you after what happened." the older wizard said in sobs.  
  
"It's not your fault."  
  
Both Harry and Sirius, a boy and a man who had suffered too much, were crying and comforting each other now.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sirius, but you have to leave. Now," a new voice came.  
  
As both Harry and Sirius turned sideways they saw Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"I am sorry, Sirius, but you have to leave." The old wizard repeated in a sad, almost pleading voice. "Any wizard or witch with the slightest sensitivity within hundreds of miles of this place has felt this. magical eruption. The Ministry, slow as they are, will be here shortly, and they will come in force.  
  
You must leave," Dumbledore again stressed.  
  
"But."  
  
"I will take care of young Harry. You must go," Dumbledore repeated.  
  
"Go Sirius. You mustn't get caught," Harry now added. "I can't lose my godfather, now can I?" he said with a weak smile.  
  
Looking torn, Sirius finally nodded. "Owl me," he said before he disapparated. Harry looked up to Dumbledore, his stomach churning with feelings of guilt for his loss of control.  
  
"I am afraid this is my fault," Dumbledore said before Harry could profess his guilt.  
  
"No Professor, this is my fault," Harry gasped.  
  
"Why Harry?" Dumbledore said in a calm voice while he stepped closer to Harry, laying a hand on the kneeling boy's shoulder. "Because it was you that released all this magic?"  
  
Harry only nodded.  
  
"That, my dear boy, was only the result of my actions.  
  
When I implemented those wards on The Burrow, I took the easy path; thinking it was only for a few weeks.  
  
The wards I created did not dissipate your emotions, but only suppressed them. Unfortunately, suppressed emotions have a tendency to erupt. Violently, I might add."  
  
"But Professor, it was my fault. I crossed the wards. I wasn't thinking."  
  
"So you figured that out, did you?"  
  
Before Harry could tell Dumbledore he had actually sensed them, the old wizard continued.  
  
"No, Harry. You crossing those wards was of no consequence. If anything, it was a good thing. Had you been subjected to them much longer the emotions inside you would only have grown stronger. All this would have happened later and even more powerfully, the wards would have been torn to shreds and all this destruction would have been visited on another place, most likely in the company of others. most likely at the Burrow. I made an error in judgement, I see that now." Dumbledore's voice had a finality to it, as if the conclusion was set in stone.  
  
Suddenly all around them there were so many pops it was almost deafening.  
  
At least twenty-five wizards and witches appeared and roared as one: "STUPEFY."  
  
Almost faster than Harry could see, Dumbledore threw up his hands and a transparent bubble appeared around them. As the curses hit, Harry could hear Dumbledore groan slightly.  
  
After the first wave of curses had hit, most saw who they had been aiming at; Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter were famous faces after all. Some wizards fired a second volley but were then stopped by their colleagues. There was, however, not one among them that lowered his wand.  
  
More people began to appear. Some of them were obviously Ministry workers; others seemed to be spectators, but not many, and these were immediately driven back.  
  
"Well, have you caught them?" it sounded from behind the line of what were now obviously Aurors.  
  
The line parted somewhat and forward stepped a man in a green suit and cloak wearing a bowler hat.  
  
".. Albus?" gasped Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. "But what. how.," he spluttered.  
  
"Yes, Cornelius. And I'm sure you recognize Harry Potter. If you would be so kind as to tell your people to stand down.?"  
  
"Uh, what? Stand down? Oh, yes, yes. Of course. STAND DOWN. everyone."  
  
Uneasily, the Aurors put away their wands, but their stance and wariness did not change.  
  
Slowly Dumbledore stood up. He seemed to radiate power at that moment and with a single look made every Auror present back off, from the scarred veterans to the most enthusiastic, recent graduate. Gently the wizened Headmaster helped Harry to his feet.  
  
"What happened here, Albus? Was it He-Who." the Minister noticed his mistake and quickly corrected, "uhm, Sirius Black?"  
  
"No Cornelius, it was not. I think we should." Dumbledore started to say but was interrupted by Harry.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
"Yes, Harry?" answered Dumbledore gently, while Fudge gave Harry an annoyed look.  
  
"Could you catch me?" And with that Harry fainted to the ground.  
  
*****  
  
"It couldn't have been him," Harry heard a voice piercing through the shroud that covered his consciousness.  
  
"Oh, but it was, Cornelius, it was."  
  
"But he's just a boy."  
  
"Indeed. But you saw the reports, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, but. but. this is something altogether different. Is he. safe?"  
  
"You mean will it happen again?"  
  
Apparently someone nodded.  
  
"No, not like this. As I told you, this is my fault. It will not happen again. But there will be," the voice was silent for a moment as if looking for the right word, "incidents."  
  
"Should we allow him back to Hogwarts then? I mean, think of the other students, Albus."  
  
"We are working on a solution. But even if we don't find one, he will have to return to Hogwarts. It is the only place that he can learn to master his powers. As long as I am Headmaster, Harry Potter will be welcome at Hogwarts."  
  
There was some spluttering but slowly Harry sank back into unconsciousness.  
  
*****  
  
HARRY POTTER INVOLVED IN MAGICAL OUTBURST  
  
The Daily Prophet has learned that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was involved in a magical outburst somewhere in middle England. The exact cause if this magical outbreak of incredible proportions is unknown, and rumours to what the explanation might be range from a Death Eater attack like that at the World Cup last year, to Mr. Potter himself. These rumours are very unlikely as no group of Death Eaters large enough has been spotted since The Downfall of 'He Who Must Not Be Named' and Mr. Potter is only a boy. More credibility can be given to the rumour that it was in fact Sirius Black who tried to attack Mr. Potter. We must not forget that he has proven himself to be a powerful wizard when he killed thirteen people with one curse. The Ministry of Magic has given no comment, except that they are investigating the matter. Because of this event the continuation of the high profile case against Vernon D. has been postponed until tomorrow when Mr. Potter is expected to be fit enough to testify. Charles McDourn, councillor for the defence in this case, spoke in outrage: "There is no reason to postpone judgement. This is just another example of Mr. Potter's mental instability and proves he is not capable of testifying. Had it been any other person this would have been concluded long ago." An appeal of this nature was dismissed by presiding Magistrate Mundungus Fletcher  
  
Page 2 -Eye witness reports- An interview by Rita Skeeter. Page4 -I got a headache from 200 miles away- An account by S. Meyers, sensitive.  
  
*****  
  
When Harry woke it was obvious he was back at The Burrow. After remembering what had happened, he was actually very glad he wasn't back at St. Mungo's. How could he have been so stupid?  
  
How could he face the Weasleys? Never mind the problems he had thought he had before. Now he had completely destroyed a substantial piece of land and everything on it. They would be scared of him and he couldn't blame them. What should he do? He couldn't stay in his bed forever; sooner or later he would have to go downstairs.  
  
He had best make it easy on everyone. The Weasleys would feel obligated to let him stay and he wouldn't do that to them.  
  
Maybe he could convince Dumbledore to let him go to Hogwarts early; he had, after all, said that he would always be welcome there.  
  
Slowly Harry stood up, every muscle in his body aching as after one of Oliver Wood's famous marathon length Quidditch practices. He also had a headache that had nothing to do with alcohol.  
  
Carefully he moved about the room and gathered the few things he had, but he didn't get very far.  
  
Arthur Weasley stepped into the room, probably intending to check up on Harry. "What are you doing, Harry?"  
  
Without turning around, Harry answered. "I'm packing my things. I think it best I not stay here much longer. I'm obviously dangerous and I can understand you not wanting me around here. I think I can convince Dumbledore to let me stay at Hogwarts," Harry said in the most level voice he could muster.  
  
"Harry, what are you talking about? You will always be welcome here," Arthur Weasley said with amazement in his tone.  
  
"Look. Arthur," Harry said, still not used to using the first name of a grownup besides Sirius. "After today, no one would want me around, so you don't have to lie. It must have been difficult to have me here in the first place. All those reporters trying to get at me; not to mention, me being a burden on this household with all my. personal problems. And now with what happened in the field."  
  
"Harry," Arthur's voice sounded sternly. "I don't know what gave you this idea, but I will say this one more time and then the matter will be finished. You will always be welcome in this house. Not only are you Ron's best friend but you are almost like another son to me and Molly, and let us not forget you saved the life of my only daughter for which we can never thank you enough. Now, I admit that you are not like my other sons in that you are probably more mature than them in some ways, although right now you are behaving like a child. Nevertheless, we all love you and would never send you away."  
  
Harry looked up to Arthur's eyes and saw a combination of anger, affection and a little disappointment there. "But."  
  
"There will be no discussion," Arthur interrupted before Harry could continue. "Now, unless you truly wish to leave, in which case I will not stop you, put your things back and come downstairs for dinner. But, please," and Arthur's voice became soft and compassionate, "don't leave because you think we don't want you here.  
  
*****  
  
Harry just sat on Ron's bed, amazed and not without a significant amount of doubt. Had Arthur just told him he could stay and meant it?  
  
Who would want him? He was dangerous, he realized that much. But the words had sounded so sincere and he so desperately wanted to believe them.  
  
The door creaked. It was Hermione. She shyly peeked from behind the door. When she saw that Harry was decent, she came in.  
  
"Hi Harry, are you alright?" she asked.  
  
Still milling around the words he had heard before, Harry's only answer was a distracted "Fine."  
  
Although the answer was almost hurtfully brief, Hermione ignored this. She, better than most people, knew what Harry's emotional state was, what he had been through.  
  
"What happened, Harry?" she asked. "No one will tell us what happened. Dumbledore is quiet and. and not feeling well, apparently. Mrs. Weasley is fussing over him and that's probably the only reason she's not up here besides Dumbledore's insistence to let you sleep." Harry was still silent and staring into nothingness. Only a small part of his mind was listening to his best friend.  
  
"Mr. Weasley only told me you were awake and looked upset. There must be fifty Aurors around and the only reason Minister Fudge is not still yelling is that he was thrown out. Can you imagine Mrs. Weasley throwing out the Minister of Magic?" By now Hermione realised she was babbling, but it seemed to pull Harry out of his almost catatonic state as a small smile played on his lips, so she continued.  
  
"I thought he was going to have a heart attack when she told him that if he couldn't behave himself properly she would throw him out, and then when she actually did. you should have seen his face," Hermione said with a giggle.  
  
When she continued her face fell, however, and her tone was gentle. "What happened, Harry? Tell me, please? Fudge kept saying that you were a danger. He kept on saying that you were 'unstable' and that if you could do 'that', you were dangerous. What did he mean, Harry?"  
  
Harry's voice was hesitant and distant: "What he meant is. that I cannot control myself. I let my magic get out of control. Oh gods. If you had seen what I did." he said with a cry.  
  
Hermione wanted to ask Harry what it was he had done, but before she could do so Harry cut her off, his voice flat.  
  
"You should get away from me, Hermione. I'm dangerous, even I can see that."  
  
"NO, Harry Potter don't you even dare suggest that," she said with ferocity.  
  
"Why not? If you had only seen." Harry's voice trailed off and his eyes became distant again.  
  
"It doesn't matter, Harry. I won't go."  
  
Sensing that he was about to say more, and suddenly afraid of what that might be, Hermione quickly changed the course of the conversation. "We should go downstairs. Mrs. Weasley has prepared dinner." Forcefully she pulled him along by his arm.  
  
*****  
  
Dinner was quiet and very uncomfortable for Harry. Now even more than before everyone was trying to be cheerful and not say anything upsetting to him. Heaven forbid he would become upset. Dumbledore had stayed for dinner, and for all his complements about Mrs. Weasley's cooking, Harry didn't think that this was the reason he had stayed, even though he was eating with gusto, especially for an old man.  
  
As soon as he reasonably could, Harry excused himself from the dinner table.  
  
*****  
  
In Ron's room he prepared himself for hours of fitful waking and sleeping, but strangely enough this was not the case. Even though he had slept all day, Harry was exhausted.  
  
His first dream consisted only of disembodied voices.  
  
"You have news?"  
  
"Nothing new, my Lord. According to our spies the Potter boy was the cause."  
  
"NO. I have taken Potter's measure and he is incapable of such magic; few wizards are, perhaps one in a dozen generations. It must have been someone else. but whom?"  
  
"The Daily Prophet claims Sirius Black, my lord."  
  
"Sirius Black. Now there is an enigma. How I wanted to recruit him, instead I ended up with you."  
  
"My Lord, I."  
  
"Oh, be silent. Find out what happened, find Potter and find his relatives. I wish to know more of what happened in that house. Do NOT fail me."  
  
The dream shifted.  
  
He now stood in a graveyard. Two figures came walking from the mist, it was Ron and himself.  
  
"Wands out, you reckon?"  
  
"Yes, no telling where we are."  
  
In his mind Harry screamed to himself and Ron to get out of there, screamed to his other self that this had happened before, that he should know exactly where they were.  
  
"Kill the spare."  
  
"AVADA KEDAVRA"  
  
And again the dream shifted.  
  
"There is one last thing I want to try."  
  
And again.  
  
"Bow Harry, it's the polite thing to do. Crucio."  
  
And again.  
  
"Why did you get me killed, Harry? Why didn't you take the cup alone, like I said? Why did you have to be so damned noble?"  
  
And again.  
  
"We died for you Harry, and look what you did with our sacrifice. YOU ARE NOT OUR SON."  
  
And again.  
  
"As Minister of Magic I hereby condemn Sirius Black to the Dementor's Kiss."  
  
And again.  
  
"He's taken Hermione, Harry. You have to do something. This is all your fault."  
  
And again  
  
"For falsely accusing Vernon Dursley you will be expelled from Hogwarts and your wand broken. You will NEVER be a wizard."  
  
And again.  
  
"Kill the Spare."  
  
"AVADA KEDAVRA."  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
As in every night that had passed, in for what felt like forever, one nightmare followed another until in the early morning Harry finally awoke.  
  
A/N If you wish to be notified of the next update just leave your email address with your review. Thank you to all of you who took the time to review, I really appreciate it.  
  
Traveller 


	12. Chapter XI

A/N The reviews at fanfiction.net have been seriously lacking and I am considering discontinuing publishing Path to Power on this site. In the case of this event you may find the following chapters at Schnoogle.com  
  
Chapter XI  
  
Breakfast passed in silence until it was time to leave. Harry had barely eaten anything, his thoughts already at the trial. In a daze he followed the instructions he was given and once again he arrived in the office of Ally Fish's.  
  
Looking at Harry with worry, Ally slowly approached him. "Are you capable of testifying, Harry?"  
  
"Yes," was the only answer she received.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Still in a world of his own, Harry answered her questions only with yes or no, like an automaton. With a worried look, Ally opened her chamber doors to let everyone out.  
  
Apparently reporters had found out where her office was because the hallway was filled to capacity. Immediately the Weasleys formed a circle around Harry, a red wall, while Dumbledore took point and with one glaring look split the mass of reporters to create a path toward the courtroom. If not for Hermione gently guiding him, Harry would never have found his way to the courtroom, retreated into himself as he was. As it was he didn't hear any of the questions the reporters shouted or the gentle words of encouragement Hermione whispered.  
  
He did not feel her hand on his in a reassuring gesture when they sat in their chairs and he only stood when he was nudged to do so. He did not even notice Vernon being brought in. He did not hear anything until those words that stabbed him like a sword were spoken  
  
"The prosecution calls Harry Potter to testify."  
  
Slowly he stood and walked to the chair were he was supposed to sit; that chair in which everyone could see him without obstruction; that chair in which he would be all alone, again. From that chair he had no choice but to look at Vernon.  
  
The Magistrate intoned: "Do you vow to speak truthfully before this office, to speak no lies and to withhold no truths?"  
  
"I do," Harry replied, making sure he kept his voice level.  
  
"Does the prosecution or the defence feel the necessity of Veritaserum?"  
  
"No, My Lord," Ally replied.  
  
"My Lord, the defence feels that as Mr. Potter's mental state is questionable; Veritaserum would be useless in our opinion. We would however request you rule this testimony moot on the same grounds."  
  
"My Lord, the prosecution has entered into the record the statements of all those who have been in close contact with Mr. Potter since the incident in question; this includes statements from several doctors and nurses who would have reported anything out of the ordinary because of their medical training. These statements clearly show that, although there are signs of stress and trauma, there is no instability."  
  
"This office sees no need for Veritaserum and lets the ruling of the legitimacy of this testimony stand for now. Let it be so noted in the records. The prosecution may begin."  
  
"Please state your name and occupation for the record." Ally began.  
  
"Potter, Harry. Hogwart's student, 5th year."  
  
"Mr. Potter, would you please describe for us the events as they unfolded at Privet Drive."  
  
For the first time, Harry prepared to tell his story while fully conscious and he felt the anger, hate and fear flow into his bloodstream like ice, it came as naturally as breathing. Almost unable to inhale, Harry fought with himself to keep calm. He would not scream. He would not lash out. He would not cry. Harry was, however, fighting a losing battle. Looking into the eyes of his tormenter, he saw every atrocity, every demeaning gesture in his mind, and he saw in Vernon's eyes that the man knew; knew that Harry was reliving every moment. He saw that even now Vernon played a game of torture to satisfy his sadistic needs. His uncle was enjoying himself and Harry saw it. Vernon even went as far as to quickly lick his own lips and his eyes expressed pleasure. To Harry there was no world, there was only Vernon and himself, only him and the man who had hurt him, cut him to the depths of his soul.  
  
"Mr. Potter?" Ally's voice came from far away and was of no consequence to Harry, as fear and anger fought for dominion.  
  
Slowly a golden light appeared in Harry's vision, and with it came tranquillity. There was no more reason to be upset. No reason to be afraid. There was only tranquillity.  
  
Suddenly and without warning Harry started his story.  
  
As there was nothing that could hurt him, there was no reason not to tell. As there was nothing to be upset about, there was no reason to withhold anything that had been done to him. For what seemed like hours Harry talked, telling his story. His voice was that of someone who was looking inward and anyone who heard it was riveted, not only by the story but by the voice as well, a voice that spoke from what seemed like another world. No one interrupted. No one dared.  
  
When Harry finally concluded his story by telling about the last thing Vernon had done, touching the wand to the scar on his forehead, the number of dry eyes could be counted on the fingers of one hand; even Ally had a ghost of a tear glistening in her eye even though she had heard the story before from Dumbledore; it was just not the same. Magistrate Fletcher was dry-eyed but had obviously taken the story to heart, his eyes slightly glazed over. McDourn, however, quickly composed himself and assumed a facial expression that was intended to show his disbelief.  
  
"I have no further questions, my lord."  
  
Ally was elated and devastated at the same time. She had expected that at best she would have to coax the more gruesome details out of Harry, and at worst, Harry would have a breakdown on the stand.  
  
Harry, however, had told everything, had not left out anything; not those things that were humiliating, not those thing that were extra painful. She had heard things she hoped she would never hear again in her lifetime.  
  
As she scanned the room to see the reactions, she saw Dumbledore. The old headmaster was as white as a sheet and noticeably trembling. He looked exhausted but determined to see something through, but what? Molly Weasley was at his side, supporting him.  
  
McDourn rose from his seat to cross examine Harry.  
  
"Mr. Potter; that was a very touching story. I'm sure you suffered a lot. Or have you? You don't look all the worse for wear to me."  
  
"I." Harry started to say.  
  
"No, Mr. Potter,' McDourn quickly interrupted, "that was a rhetorical question. You don't have to answer. Instead I would ask you: if Vernon Dursley tormented you so, why now? Why not earlier?"  
  
Still the golden haze shone before Harry's eyes and his instincts told him he was wrapped up in it. He calmly told of the letter Vernon had received and answered all the questions asked of him subsequent to the first.  
  
McDourn was clearly trying to undermine Harry's credibility, doing everything in his power to picture him as a petulant schoolboy. He even went so far as to go back to second year when everyone had thought him Slytherin's heir. He dragged up third year, what had happened with Sirius. He went so far as to cite a Ministry report stating that in all probability a Confundus class charm had been used on Harry, although his tone implied differently, McDourn was clearly gifted at his profession.  
  
And then he asked about Cedric.  
  
"It was never determined what really happened to Cedric Diggory, Mr. Potter. What are we to think of that? You were the only person present at his death. Wouldn't you like to tell us the truth of that day?"  
  
For a moment the golden haze wavered and Harry felt anger seeping into his guts, then it reasserted itself.  
  
"I object, my lord. Councillor McDourn is being suggestive without offering proof," Ally interjected.  
  
"Councillor McDourn, you will either provide proof or stop accusing the witness. I once more remind you, it is your client that is on trial, no one else."  
  
"But my lord, this will show that the witness is not fit to testify. I must be allowed to."  
  
"Proof, Councillor, proof. I think I have given you more than enough leeway"  
  
"Yes, my lord," McDourn said in a dejected voice.  
  
McDourn made a few more attempts to discredit Harry but couldn't really prove anything and soon stopped, Cedric Diggory had been his prime playing card. The question now was: would it be enough?  
  
"I have no more questions, my lord."  
  
"The witness may step down," Magistrate Fletcher said, in a not unkind voice.  
  
"The prosecution rests, My Lord."  
  
"As this testimony was shorter than expected, the defence may begin its case after lunch."  
  
Slowly Harry and his companions made their way to Ally's office where they had lunch while Dumbledore collapsed on a couch and slept.  
  
*****  
  
After lunch McDourn began.  
  
"The defence calls for Arabella Figg, Unspeakable."  
  
An older woman stepped up to the chair and Harry couldn't believe his eyes. That was. Mrs. Figg, his babysitter.  
  
The Magistrate intoned: "Do you vow to speak truthfully before this office, to speak no lies and to withhold no truths?"  
  
"I do," the woman replied.  
  
Harry now clearly recognized her as his old babysitter. Her poise and behaviour were completely different however. He remembered her as an easily distracted, cat loving old woman. Here, however, sat a woman of great composure and poise.  
  
"Does the prosecution or the defence feel the necessity of Veritaserum? I wish to remind you that the witness in question is an Unspeakable with a flawless reputation.  
  
"No, My Lord," both Ally and McDourn replied.  
  
"This office sees no need for Veritaserum. The defence may begin."  
  
"Please state your name and occupation for the record," McDourn began, just as Ally had before.  
  
"Figg, Arabella, Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries. Current assignment: Harry Potter."  
  
"Mrs. Figg, please tell us how you were given this assignment."  
  
"I requested it. I knew James and Lily. My family has always been close to House Potter. When they were killed, I decided that Harry needed someone to guard him from the deluded followers of the Dark Lord; especially my half-brother."  
  
"We have heard testimony of what allegedly happened at Privet Drive. You were there, observing that house. Did you notice anything?"  
  
"Nothing, besides that the window was boarded up. However this was not unusual. It happened before without consequence and I was given no permission to investigate."  
  
"So the Department of Mysteries saw no evidence ill doings in progress?"  
  
"No."  
  
"As an Unspeakable I assume you had several Dark Magic detectors set up. Did they register anything?"  
  
"No," was the simple answer.  
  
"To be complete, did you notice ANYTHING unusual that could point to the alleged events?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Could you describe the Dursley family, please?"  
  
"From a Muggle point of view they are as normal as they come, upstanding members of the community, good job, and good school. But."  
  
"Thank you, no further questions."  
  
"Mrs. Figg," Ally picked up the questioning, "are the detectors you used sensitive enough to pick up the spark of magic an Adept uses?"  
  
"I object my lord. The witness is neither an expert on detectors nor Adepts. She is not qualified to answer," McDourn cried out.  
  
"My Lord, if I may?" Mrs. Figg said before the magistrate could respond. With a wave of his hand he gave her permission to speak.  
  
"As I expected this question, I consulted the experts of my department and I have been granted leave to speak for the Department of Mysteries. It is our opinion that no detector, no matter how sensitive, would have picked up the magic used by an Adept."  
  
"I will accept that statement from the Department of Mysteries. Let it be so noted," the Magistrate said.  
  
"Did you have much contact with Harry or the Dursleys?" Ally continued her questioning.  
  
"No, I have had no contact with Harry since before his first year at Hogwarts. I had some infrequent contact with Petunia Dursley, but not in the last month before the incident. The last time I saw her she seemed. distracted and upset."  
  
"Thank you. You may step down."  
  
McDourn sent a look toward Ally that could kill.  
  
"The defence calls for Vernon Dursley."  
  
Vernon looked surprised at this.  
  
The Magistrate intoned: "Do you vow to speak truthfully before this office, to speak no lies and to withhold no truths?" Harry began to understand why he sounded so bored when he said these things. This must be the tenth time he had said something like that in this trial alone.  
  
Apparently Vernon had learnt his lesson but was still scared; he only uttered a weak "Yes."  
  
"As defendant you are exempt from Veritaserum unless sufficient reason is found, but I warn you, one lie and I will make you take it."  
  
Again Vernon spoke in a small voice "Yes."  
  
"Please state your name and occupation for the record," McDourn said in the smooth voice that seemed to be his trademark.  
  
"Vernon Dursley, I'm a managing director for Grunning Drills." Vernon's voice sounded like he wanted to start yelling but was containing himself, Harry observed, but it was well hidden. He had probably been thoroughly coached.  
  
"Please describe your relationship with Harry Potter."  
  
"He's my nephew from my wife's side. We've been raising him from the day his parents died, such brave people they were. As he was left in our care we did the very best to nurture him, giving him shelter and clothing, giving him the food from our own mouths.  
  
We always tried to raise him proper; we are pious people and tried to teach him the good book. But he was such a rebellious boy. Never did what he was told, too lazy to do any chores. Why, he even blew up my sister once, she was never the same after that, but we wouldn't hear of him going anywhere else."  
  
Vernon definitely sounded coached. Harry had never heard him use this tone of voice before. He sounded reasonable and compliant. It was sickening.  
  
"Would you please describe what happened the day your nephew was so brutally taken from your legal custody by Remus Lupin and the events leading up to that day."  
  
"Well it had actually started the day he came home, at the end of his school year. As a legal guardian should, I picked him up from Kings Cross.  
  
When I asked him how his year had been the only answer I got was that I should 'mind my own bloody business -excuse the language, I'm only repeating what my nephew said. After that he refused to speak. I felt that something was wrong and decided to let him be for a while. You know how young people can be at that age; sometimes they just need their privacy.  
  
Later I called him down for dinner but he refused to eat. Understandably I was worried, but he refused to tell me anything.  
  
You have to understand there was only so much I could do, especially with the condition my wife was in; she's been having some emotional problems, it's been very hard on my family.  
  
Later he even upset my precious son Dudley by saying that Petunia was crazy, the poor boy was very upset.  
  
After that he became even more difficult to handle. He was rude, he was being a sloth, he bullied Dudley and he threatened us with magic. It was terrible.  
  
He played loud music in his room at all times, day and night. This was all very upsetting to my wife so I put in some soundproofing for his room. That is when he started hurting himself. You can understand how shocked I was at this. I tried talking to him, but he refused. He even went so far as to threaten my poor defenceless wife.  
  
When I addressed him on this issue he threatened to call in his Godfather and that the man would kill us. Scared for my life I left Harry alone for a while.  
  
I should never have done that. The poor but obviously disturbed boy did even further damage to himself. As a precaution I had taken his wand and some of his more dangerous looking magical items from him; but I'm just a Muggle, I didn't know what to do about magic. Then he stole back his wand and used it to hurt himself. I tried, I swear I tried but."  
  
This was too much for Harry. That lying son of a bitch. The golden haze wavered.  
  
"YOU LYING BASTARD. DON'T YOU DARE DENY WHAT YOU DID."  
  
"SILENCE! BE SILENT MR. POTTER OR I WILL HAVE YOU REMOVED," the magistrate shouted but was drowned out by Harry's booming voice. The golden haze trembled.  
  
".TO ME. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED AND."  
  
Harry had lost it, the anger that had been suppressed was now overflowing and the golden haze that had surrounded him was torn to shreds. Inside of him his magic was once more rushing to the surface, to give form to his anger.  
  
".I WILL NOT LET YOU LIE ABOUT IT. YOU LOWLIFE."  
  
In the same row where Harry was standing, Dumbledore had slumped to the ground, his body trembling with effort, convulsing; Molly Weasley beside him, trying to help, but no one else was paying attention, all eyes were turned on Harry.  
  
Harry's voice had now become more than human; it was his anger given form.  
  
".SCUMBAG. I WILL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER."  
  
The magistrate was still yelling for Harry to be silent and McDourn was orating that this was exactly why Harry's testimony should be disregarded. Unfortunately, this only infuriated Harry further and a bright white light shone in his eyes.  
  
". HARM ANOTHER HUMAN BEING. TELL THE TRUTH YOU SON OF A."  
  
Vernon was enraged. Instead of scared he was angry. His nephew, that abnormality that he had so appropriately punished was insulting him. His skin flushed red from the neck upward as he stood and yelled:  
  
"SHUT UP YOU FREAK. OR WOULD YOU LIKE SOME MORE OF WHAT I DID TO YOU? I WILL HAVE YOU PLEADING FOR MERCY, YOU ABOMINATION. I WILL BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY AND FINISH WHAT I STARTED. YOU WILL."  
  
Harry now felt threatened.  
  
He lashed out in fear and anger.  
  
Suddenly Vernon fell silent as he grasped at his throat; slowly he was lifted off his feet.  
  
The courtroom was as silent as death.  
  
Not only had the accused just confessed, now there was an underage wizard exuding a considerable amount of power.  
  
Without his wand.  
  
Through the silence came only one voice, a voice that seemed to come from across a void to Harry and soothed him. A voice that was familiar to Harry, it was calm and rational, but full of emotion and compassion at the same time, the strange combination did not surprise him.  
  
"Calm down, Harry," Hermione whispered, her hand gently on the arm that Harry had pointed at Vernon.  
  
"He's confessed; that's enough, isn't it.? He is not worth going to prison for, you're better than he is"  
  
Slowly Harry turned his head towards her, his eyes full of suffering and doubt, and something more. perhaps a plea for help intermingled with desperation.  
  
"Please Harry, for me?" Hermione's soft voice said.  
  
By now Vernon had turned red and was nudging towards blue. He had scratched open the skin on his throat in a desperate attempt to get a single breath of air. Harry stared at Hermione as if trying to comprehend what she was saying, his mind so clouded with rage and terror it took time to process her words. She could see the anger wavering in his eyes.  
  
"Please?"  
  
Suddenly Vernon dropped to the floor and he inhaled with a very audible gasp. In bewilderment Harry turned to him, staring at the man that had caused him so much pain.  
  
"Oh God, what have I done?" he whispered, dropping back into his chair.  
  
Magistrate Fletcher quickly took control of the situation. He ordered with a strong voice: "All be seated, all be seated. This office has heard the confession of Vernon Dursley and will now rule."  
  
With these words everyone took their seats, now more curious than ever as to the ruling and thus not wanting to be thrown out for any reason. Harry, still staring at Vernon, was being talked to by Hermione and Ron, but neither was being very successful in getting through to him.  
  
"My lord, I object. What we have just heard can not be called a confession. They were words, rashly spoken under great stress. My client was just assaulted by one of the prime witnesses. An act, I might add, which proves my previous point. Harry Potter's testimony can not be accepted." McDourn was speaking so fast that it was obvious he was panicking, a small analytical part of Harry's brain concluded while the rest of him was still recoiling from the horror of his own actions.  
  
"I demand that everything my client said while under duress is stricken from the record. Furthermore, I protest the treatment of my client and I assure you that we will take legal action against Mr. Potter. It is an outrage when an underage wizard is."  
  
"ORDER. Councillor McDourn, take your seat." McDourn was about to continue protesting but one angry glare from Fletcher convinced him otherwise. In a solemn voice the magistrate continued: "I have reached my verdict. After hearing the facts and the subsequent confession of Vernon Dursley, I find the accused guilty."  
  
A roar of approval came from the gathered audience. The assembled reporters were furiously writing down every detail they could spot; from the disappointed look on McDourn's face, the shock Vernon emanated, to the complete disinterest of Harry Potter.  
  
Harry had completely withdrawn into his own world, shocked at his own capability for violence. Deep inside he felt the burning fires of revenge, calling out for more retribution; but he also felt his own disgust at the actions he had taken without a second thought. Both Hermione and Ron were kneeling beside him, still trying to talk to him.  
  
"Vernon Dursley, I hereby condemn you to life imprisonment in Azkaban. Although you have preformed no unforgivable curses, your actions, as can be deduced from testimony, are so inhumane, you deserve nothing less. You will be placed in a solitary cell for your own protection, as you are a Muggle, but that is all the leniency I am willing to show."  
  
Magistrate Fletcher extended his hand a grabbed hold of a small sphere, as black as night, placed on his desk and intoned: "Thus I have ruled, thus shall it come to pass; Life imprisonment at Azkaban."  
  
At those words the entire courtroom was overpowered by a chill that went bone deep. A silence came over the room. Several people on the front row suddenly became very pale, not least of all Harry; images started forming in his head, one after another, quickly replacing each other.  
  
"No, please not Harry. Not Harry."  
  
"Kill the spare."  
  
"There is one last thing I want to try."  
  
"Stand aside, you silly girl."  
  
"NOOOO, HARRY!!!!!!"  
  
"AVADA KEDAVRA."  
  
As the images began to overlap, Harry, still slumped in his chair, began to shake. He was not the only one who was affected; Arthur Weasley was staring at a distant horror only he could see, Arabella Figg had a tear running down her cheek and even Magistrate Fletcher was clearly trying to control himself.  
  
After only a few moments the cause of all this disruption appeared: two Dementors, sucking away every happy thought and emotion.  
  
With an unsteady voice Magistrate Fletcher intoned once more, "Life imprisonment in a solitary cell at Azkaban, thus I have ruled, thus let it be done."  
  
Each of the Dementors placed a hideously decaying hand that appeared from under their black robes on one of Vernon's shoulders. Vernon was visually suffering from the Dementor's touch, but surprisingly summoned just enough energy to cast one more glare at Harry.  
  
"I should have killed you when I had the chance. Weakling," he spat.  
  
And with that the Dementors disappeared with their newest charge.  
  
"These proceedings are concluded," was the magistrate's final statement before he hastily left.  
  
Immediately press and public surged towards Harry.  
  
"Mr. Potter, are you pleased with this sentence?" "Harry, now that Vernon Dursley did not get the Dementor's kiss, are you going to seek personal revenge? Will you kill him?" "Mr. Potter, What exactly did you do to Mr. Dursley? Would you care to comment on the spell you used" "Did you force him to confess?" "Did you force him to lie?" "How did you do it without your wand?"  
  
The reporters kept trying to get closer to Harry, straight through the line of Weasleys that were shielding him and Dumbledore, who was slumped in his chair.  
  
"Mr. Potter, do you think the Ministry will press charges against you, for the violation of the underage magic rules?" "Mr. Potter, what happened to Professor Dumbledore? Were you the cause?" "Harry, is it true that Hermione is pregnant with your child?" "Mr. Potter." "Mr. Potter."  
  
But Harry was still in his own world, he heard none of the questions, did not notice the efforts the Weasleys and Hermione made on his behalf.  
  
Quickly Ally came from behind her desk and helped both Harry and Dumbledore to their feet and then dragged them along towards the back exit. After they stepped through the door into a secure hallway, Ally turned, drew her wand, and performed a locking spell.  
  
"Wait," Harry said, suddenly coming out of his stunned silence, "Ron and Hermione are still in there and Arthur and."  
  
"Don't worry, Harry," Ally interrupted. "They can take care of themselves, and besides, the press isn't after them, they're after you."  
  
Although Ally's words made sense, Harry could not help but worry; those reporters had been so aggressive in seeking him out.  
  
Dumbledore was leaning against a wall, his breathing heavy and his eyes unfocused.  
  
"Professor.?" Harry questioned uncertainly.  
  
"Don't worry." Dumbledore gasped for breath, ".Mr. Potter. I am quite all right, just a little. winded."  
  
But Dumbledore did not seem to be improving.  
  
"Come on, Harry," Ally said while trying to get a grip on Dumbledore, "let's get him to my office so he can sit down.  
  
With Harry and Ally at his sides, leaning heavily on their shoulders, Dumbledore was able to walk. Via a number of smaller, quiet hallways they made it to Ally's office, where Dumbledore was put on a couch.  
  
Ally hurried to her desk and took out a small vial which contained a brown liquid.  
  
"Drink this Albus, its Pepper-up potion. You'll be right as rain before you know it," Ally said while handing Dumbledore the vial.  
  
With shaking hands the headmaster brought the potion container to his lips and with one gulp consumed its contents. Steam came out of the ears of the old wizard and a little colour returned to his cheeks. As the headmaster lay back on the couch, his breath first steadied and then became deeper; he was asleep.  
  
A/N If you wish to be notified of the next update just leave your email address with your review. Thank you to all of you who took the time to review, I really appreciate it.  
  
Traveller 


	13. Chapter XII

Chapter XII  
  
Morning dawned on The Burrow as Molly Weasley made her way to her kitchen. It promised to be a warm summer day as the sun twinkled in the early morning sky.  
  
In all honesty she could not have said that she was surprised to see Harry already there. The boy looked miserable; this seemed to be his permanent state of being, something he wore like a cloak.  
  
Had it been one of her sons, she would have scolded him and then told him that there was always sunshine behind the clouds.  
  
But Harry was not her son, and Harry had problems that she hoped her sons would never have to bear.  
  
"Good morning," Harry said, with a voice that was cheerier then she had expected. He was mastering his façade. This thought only served to make her feel even more sorry for this boy whom she thought more than anyone in the world deserved some happiness.  
  
"Good morning dear, what would you like for breakfast?"  
  
"I hope you don't mind, Mrs. Weasley, but I already had some. I've been up for a while and I was hungry."  
  
Did she mind? She could almost cry because of that single question. It had been asked in earnest, she could hear it in his voice, see it in his posture. He was apparently even feeling a little guilty for taking food.  
  
What a monster Petunia Dursley must have been, that Harry was nervous about having taken a little food. Molly could not help but feel anger towards this woman she had never met, despite her present condition.  
  
"Of course not, dear. If you're up earlier than me, feel free to eat breakfast; you are a guest in this house and anything in this kitchen is yours for the taking."  
  
She would have never said those words to any of her younger sons; they would have eaten the larder empty. But Harry was too modest to do that; and even if he did, it would be worth it just to see the boy grow healthier.  
  
He looked better now, than he had done when he had arrived at the Burrow. He was always so thin and pale when he came from the Dursleys.  
  
She had pleaded with Dumbledore on several occasions not to allow the boy to go back to Privet Drive, to let him come to the Burrow straight away. She had suspected that Harry was not treated well by his relatives, even to the point of neglect. She had made her case most vigorously when her son had requested food for his beleaguered friend. She had never believed the worst of her youngest son's stories until not long ago; now she believed them all. and more.  
  
"Are you sure you wouldn't like a little bite to eat," she asked. As no answer came she turned to look at the boy while saying: "There isn't a growing boy alive that would turn down food. What would you like?"  
  
Harry's face was a war of emotion. She could see the old and new pains surface, see where the scars ran: 'Don't trust nice; nice comes before pain.' 'Food? Food never comes without a price.' 'Eat quickly, before they take it away.'  
  
But there were also the emotions he had not learnt from those that should have instilled them. Those he had learned only in the last few years from the people that had become close to him; that he actually had friends who cared about him.  
  
'Maybe a piece of toast?" she heard him say in a shy tone.  
  
"Very well, dear."  
  
She would make him toast. And maybe some eggs. he probably wouldn't turn down some bacon either.  
  
*****  
  
Slowly the Weasley family gathered at the breakfast table while Harry was eating away at a pile of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and toast on the side.  
  
"Dad, you really have to check the charms in the bathroom," Fred said while wolfing down his breakfast. "The whole room was fogged up again. It took at least fifteen minutes to clear."  
  
"I don't understand. I checked the charms two days ago and they're fine. Oh well, best check them again; maybe even ask Bill to look into it, he's good at that kind of thing."  
  
Ginny was the last to join. She was still a little annoyed with her mother for not being able to go to the trial, especially after she heard what Harry had done. She had been most impressed.  
  
Harry had just wanted to be left alone that evening but Ginny had kept bugging him for details. He figured it was better this than back to the blushing, but he couldn't help wonder if this would lead to the second rising of the Harry Potter fan club. Still, after he had told her the real story of what had happened she had left him alone, finally sensing his wish to be alone, even if she was not happy with it.  
  
Little had Harry known that the strangest part of the evening had yet to come. One by one all the Weasleys had gone to bed. Ron, Hermione and Arthur were the last to remain, wanting to keep Harry company. After midnight Hermione had been half asleep on the couch; Harry had sent her to bed. Ron and he had played one more game of wizard's chess and then Arthur had sent Ron to bed telling him that Harry would be up in a while. 'They needed to talk.'  
  
Without much further comment, Arthur had gotten a new bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey. Glass by glass they had proceeded to drain half the bottle, after which Arthur had put Harry to bed, the boy unsteady on his feet. Even so, Harry had been up early, awakened by a new set of nightmares. Thank Merlin for Hangover Potions.  
  
*****  
  
"Diagon Ally today," Ron said.  
  
"How are we going to do it?" Hermione asked. "If those reporters were any indication, Harry won't be able to walk the streets."  
  
"Well, those reporters aren't exactly prime indicators," Arthur responded, "but I think Harry should be disguised a bit. It shouldn't be too much of a problem. I know a few spells that would have him looking so different that no one here would recognize him.  
  
"Cor, Dad, where'd you learn those?" Ron said enthusiastically.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Weasley, where did you learn those? They're not on the Hogwarts Standard Comprehensive Curriculum," Hermione chimed in.  
  
"You actually know the entire curriculum?" Ron asked in disgust.  
  
"Yes, I do. And you would know it too, Ron, if you were interested in your future."  
  
"Well I'm sorry if I don't know what all our courses will be in 6th and 7th year. There are other things in life, you know."  
  
As Ron and Hermione continued to bicker, Arthur gave Harry a sly wink. Because of the distraction, Arthur wouldn't have to give an explanation -or make one up- as to why he knew those charms.  
  
With the bickering still going on, in the background Arthur whispered to Harry: "Shall we give it a go now? Could be amusing to see their reaction when you're someone completely different all of the sudden."  
  
"All right."  
  
Arthur drew his wand, pointed it at Harry and chanted a long and repetitive incantation under his breath, moving his wand with each repetition.  
  
Harry only felt a slight tingling and he wondered if it was working, but then he saw the stance of his hand change subtly, his skin tone becoming just a bit darker.  
  
"Well, how does it look?" he asked Arthur.  
  
However, Arthur was staring at Harry's forehead, his jaw dropping.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"That was the strongest charm I know for this work and. and it should have changed you completely. but your scar. it's still there."  
  
Gently Harry felt the front of his forehead; as usual he could find that slight relief that signified his scar.  
  
"What now?" he asked Arthur.  
  
By this time Hermione and Ron had noticed the change, they were both staring. Distracted by this, Harry turned to them.  
  
"How do I look?"  
  
Ron could only move his mouth in silence; Hermione, on the other hand was, observing him with intensity.  
  
"That is incredible. I mean, I can see it's you, but only because I know it's you. It's like every single detail of you has changed just a little bit to make up a whole new Harry," Hermione said incredulously, slowly extending a hand to touch his face.  
  
While slowly tracing the outline of his jaw and cheek with a feather light touch, Hermione continued her observations.  
  
"Your cheekbones are a little more pronounced although I can feel through the illusion, so is your nose. Your lips seem to be a bit thinner. The most remarkable thing is actually your hair and eyes. Your hair is lighter, more towards brunette and your eyes.," she said in awe, "they're blue."  
  
Hermione's hand made its way towards the other side of Harry's face. She was in no way aware what her touch looked like to the others around the table, or even how it felt to Harry, she simply continued with her comment.  
  
"Your skin is a bit darker, your body posture. it's different somehow. This is a very comprehensive spell; but the strange thing is, it didn't affect your scar. If it had, no one, not even Ron or me, would have recognized you."  
  
Ron, finally coming out of his trance-like stare, loudly cleared his throat. This seemed to wake up Hermione in turn. She quickly pulled back her hand and was able to cover up most of her blush by turning to Arthur.  
  
"This is incredible work, but it's useless with the scar still there. How are you going to solve it?"  
  
Arthur was seemingly already pondering this problem.  
  
"I'm not sure, I was thinking of maybe directing a specified Glamour on it. but I'm not certain of the effects of such a spell on a magical scar of this magnitude."  
  
Hermione went into what Harry liked to call 'scholar mode' and began to discuss the pros and cons of various spells. A smile was exchanged between Ron and Harry as their friend was discussing spells with a certified wizard on an equal level and was obviously contributing.  
  
"Well no, that wouldn't work. You see the strength of the spell would be disproportional, no normal wizard could do it." Arthur trailed off, totally stumped.  
  
Strangely enough it was Ginny that interrupted their discussion.  
  
"If I might make a suggestion?" she said, still a bit airily because of her exclusion from the trial.  
  
Both Arthur and Hermione stared at her with curiosity.  
  
"Maybe we could use something a bit simpler: Muggle make-up."  
  
Arthur looked like he was about to kiss his daughter.  
  
"Yes, that would work. Muggle muck up," he said with that enthusiasm he reserved for all things Muggle, then his fervour dissipated. "But where would we get some?"  
  
Ginny blushed. "Well, I have some."  
  
"YOU WHAT?" her three present brothers yelled simultaneously.  
  
"You're much too young for muck up," Ron continued, earning a scolding glare from Hermione. "Where did you get it anyway?"  
  
"I went to the neighbours when you were in London, remember? Marie showed me how to use it and lent me some to experiment with." She turned to Harry and Hermione. "Marie and Stuart are our closest Muggle neighbours. They used to take care of me when Mum and Dad had to go out. They've been Obliviated so many times that I wonder if there aren't side effects." She giggled.  
  
"Well, I think it would work perfectly," Hermione commented.  
  
"It's in my room."  
  
"Right, lead the way Gin. Come along, Harry," Hermione said, taking charge. She grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him along, following Ginny upstairs.  
  
At the bottom of the stairs Ron was still protesting about his little sister and make up.  
  
Harry had never been in Ginny's room. It was on the third floor. It should have come as no surprise to him, but the eye-drawing centrepiece of the room was a giant poster of. him. But still...  
  
".." Harry mouthed his surprise in silence.  
  
Ginny once again showed her famous blush.  
  
"It's a blow up from Witch Weekly," Hermione quickly interceded. "It's all over the girls' dormitories at Hogwarts."  
  
"You mean there are more?" Harry squeaked.  
  
"Well. yes," Hermione said, a bit uncertain.  
  
"And you didn't tell me?" Harry continued incredulously.  
  
"Well. you had other things on your mind," Hermione said with a slight blush.  
  
"YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?" Harry bellowed.  
  
"YOU DON'T NEED TO YELL, HARRY POTTER. I figured you wouldn't want to know."  
  
Harry returned to gaping at the poster in silence, turned to the blushing Ginny who had forgotten that the poster hung on her wall before she stepped into her room -it was after all something she saw every day without really thinking about it, and back again to his own likeness.  
  
"I wouldn't want to know?"  
  
"You know how you are with the fame and all." Hermione's voice trailed off.  
  
"You've been sleeping here for more than a week."  
  
"It's not my room, Harry, and besides, you had better come to terms with the fact that these posters are in the bedrooms of young witches all over the country."  
  
From downstairs came Arthur's voice: "How is it coming along?"  
  
Harry clenched his teeth "We'll talk about this later  
  
Ginny went to take something out of her armoire; Hermione meanwhile guided Harry to the only chair in the room.  
  
Being Muggleborn, Hermione was the one to apply the foundation that Ginny handed to her. Gently she stroked the brush across Harry's forehead, creating a not altogether unpleasant sensation for Harry; she was explaining what she was doing to Ginny, who was observing with interest. When she was done, Harry looked up into the mirror perched above the armoire and didn't recognize himself. The changes that the spell had wrought were exactly as Hermione had described, and the make-up had left only a slight discoloration on his forehead.  
  
"Brilliant," was all Harry could say.  
  
*****  
  
Ron was the last to arrive at The Leaky Cauldron. Coughing, he stepped out of the fireplace.  
  
"You'd think that with all that use there would be less soot," he commented.  
  
Molly Weasley, meanwhile, was giving everybody a once over, checking for any grime.  
  
Finally she came to Ron.  
  
"Come here, dear. You have a little something on your nose," she said, but instead of waiting for his response, she just pulled him closer to her. After a quick lick on the fingers of her right hand, she proceeded to rub.  
  
"Mum!"  
  
"Come along, follow me," Arthur said.  
  
Going through the back exit of The Leaky Cauldron, they passed the wall entrance and entered Diagon Alley.  
  
"We're off," the twins immediately chorused and they were gone before either parent could stop them.  
  
Still grumbling a bit, Mrs. Weasley took charge. "Gringotts first, and then books; followed by clothes. Oh, and not forgetting the little things such as potion supplies, maybe we should do those first, after Gringotts?"  
  
Ron groaned at the mention of potions.  
  
"Don't forget about Harry's gear, dear," Arthur interrupted. "I think I'll take him there and you can take the rest for robes and we'll meet you at Madam Malkin's."  
  
"Can't I come to, Dad?" Ron asked, and Hermione nodded her agreement.  
  
"I'm sorry Ron, but you'll have to help your mother carry all our purchases. Besides, the sooner you get to the clothes shop, the sooner you're done."  
  
"Ah, Dad."  
  
"Gringotts," was all Mrs. Weasley said and she took point of the group muttering about her twin sons and the trouble they were in if they weren't back soon.  
  
When the group entered and approached a Goblin they were told very thoroughly "Only two to a cart," after they had stated their intentions.  
  
"All right, Harry and Hermione you take one and I'll take the other," Mrs. Weasley decided. "Arthur, you wait with Ron and Ginny." Off she went at a brisk pace with a Goblin that had been summoned for the task, while Harry and Hermione followed another.  
  
"I didn't know you had a Gringotts Vault; when did you get it?" Harry asked during the exiting rollercoaster like ride.  
  
"Well, Dad decided it was a good idea to make some investments in the wizarding world, seeing as I'm here to stay. He contacted Professor Dumbledore about it and apparently the Headmaster was all for it, even gave him some good tips. Dad said he made 'a tidy profit' in some new company and that the dividend alone is enough to pay for my supplies already, so he said I should use it, said the exchange rates the goblins use were 'dismal'."  
  
After visiting Hermione's vault (number 34067, filled with a nice pile of coins), they continued on to Harry's stop.  
  
The cart stopped. "Vault 687, key please," the small goblin said after they had gotten out.  
  
As the vault opened the sparkle of gold, silver and bronze came to meet them. Harry stepped into the vault and saw the now familiar stacks of Galleons, heaps of Sickles and piles of Knuts. New, however, was a small filing cabinet on the left wall.  
  
"What's that?" he asked the goblin.  
  
"Storage space for stock certificates, bearer bonds and other valuable papers. Contents: 1000 shares of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," the goblin droned.  
  
"Harry, you didn't. You did, didn't you?" Hermione said, pulled away from her stare by the goblin's words.  
  
"Did what?" Harry responded, trying to look as innocent as possible, and not succeeding very well.  
  
"You gave money to Fred and George! You are the 'lunatic investor' Ron was talking about. How could you Harry? You know Mrs. Weasley wants them to get proper jobs after Hogwarts."  
  
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "The money I gave them was the 1000 Galleons I won at the Tri-wizard tournament."  
  
"Oh, Harry." Hermione said a bit despondently.  
  
Harry resumed as if she had said nothing, his voice distant. "I didn't want that money. I didn't deserve it. It should have been Cedric's. His parents didn't want it, I didn't want it. I gave it to Fred and George. figured we could use something to laugh about. Voldemort."  
  
To Hermione's surprise, the goblin flinched at the name even if he was pretending not to listen for the rest. She herself only felt a bit weary of the name; she was, after all, Muggleborn and wasn't raised with the inherent fear that name created. The little fear she did feel came from her extra studies, the descriptions of the hate Death Eaters felt for 'Mudbloods'. She had once read that names could be powerful. From Harry's stories she knew that both he and Dumbledore said the Dark Lord's name openly. Names did have power, but if one was not careful the power they had came from an unexpected angle.  
  
"Voldemort is back, Hermione, and soon we'll have precious little to laugh at."  
  
Silently Harry went to retrieve money. Remembering the need to buy everything anew he took care to bring extra. Damn Vernon.  
  
The ride back was silent and it had lost its exhilaration.  
  
*****  
  
Flourish & Blotts was as busy as ever, so close to the school season. Harry passed several people he knew who went to Hogwart's, but was not recognized. One of the attendants had gotten him his school books after Harry had handed over his list, but was told that he would have to look up 'Duelling for Masters' himself.  
  
While sifting through the many bookcases, he saw Seamus Finnigan talking to Ron by the Quidditch section. As Seamus looked right at him, Harry froze; but Seamus showed no signs of recognition, so he relaxed a bit. This could even be fun.  
  
Slowly he made his way over to his two dorm mates, making sure he kept out of Ron's line of sight.  
  
".sent to Azkaban," he heard Seamus say.  
  
Ron, who had not noticed Harry yet, continued his conversation, oblivious. "If you ask me, he should have gotten a lot worse. He's just lucky Harry didn't kill him then and there. You could just see it in his eyes."  
  
"I heard about that. They say he didn't even use his wand?"  
  
"Absolutely, just pointed his hand at him, no wand, no spell. It was damned scary, you know. I was glad Hermione was able to get through to him. I mean, it's Harry, but."  
  
Harry had heard enough and moved away. He couldn't really blame Ron. It had been scary. He had been disgusted with himself in retrospect.  
  
Slowly he made his way along more bookcases, looking for his book, on occasion pulling out an interesting looking one.  
  
"'Beauty by Wand' by Lindy Lockheart," Harry murmured to himself. Not really what he was looking for. Apparently there was an entire section devoted to these kinds of books.  
  
It should have come as no surprise that Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were there. Again Harry was not recognized and he decided to try to hear what the two girls were talking about. These two were forever whispering to each other and when anyone in Gryffindor Tower came into hearing range they would giggle and stop whispering. Harry had been getting curious.  
  
".hurt real bad, the poor guy," Parvati said.  
  
"Well, I'm sure you can make him feel better," Lavender answered in a suggestive tone.  
  
"After the way he treated me at The Yule Ball last year? I don't think so. Although. I have heard he might get a large compensation from the Ministry."  
  
"And just think of the fame. Mrs. Harry Potter, now that's a name you can use. And the family, they don't come much better."  
  
"I thought you were interested in Seamus?" Parvati said with mock outrage.  
  
"Oh, I am. He's got such a cute accent," Lavender giggled. "But that doesn't mean I can't look around. Harry might be small, but he's supposed to be quite the wizard. And with all that money and fame."  
  
Inconspicuously Harry moved on. He had not needed to hear that.  
  
Finally he found 'Duelling for Masters'. It had a picture of Professor Flitwick on the front. The little wizard was a lot younger in the picture than in reality. The figure was going through what seemed like several duelling positions. The most amazing thing about the view was the cat like grace the Charms teacher had in his movements and the intense look he had in his eyes, so very different from the amicable professor he knew.  
  
*****  
  
After having paid for his books, Harry went to find Arthur. Together they made their way to 'Ye Old Wizards Armoury', after they had left the books with Mrs. Weasley, who had offered to carry them so that Harry would have his hands free.  
  
"We asked Charlie for the best address and this is what he came up with. The shop is almost as old as Ollivanders, although if you ask the owner he'll say that the shop is much older and only the building is younger," Arthur told Harry. "It's right next to Ollivanders, in fact."  
  
As the two entered the shop, its purpose was clear immediately. Body armour, helmets, leg protectors and a full assortment of other protective gear was hanging from the walls and standing in display cases.  
  
A large, burly man came from the back. He had long blond hair and was wearing pieces of his own collection over his overall brown clothing. He had rugged skin, probably from over exposure to the elements, and his age was hard to judge. He could have been thirty and he could have been fifty.  
  
"How may I help you, gentlemen?" he inquired politely.  
  
Arthur stepped forward. "Good morning," he began courteously. "We were given this address by my son; he said you are the man to see about dragon gear."  
  
"And he was absolutely right. There is no one better in the whole of England. The name is Charles Woodfen," the shopkeeper said with an outstretched hand.  
  
"Arthur Weasley," Arthur said, taking the man's hand.  
  
"Charlie's' father, of course. I should have seen it. Fine young man, Charlie is. You must be very proud of him. Has a real heart for dragons, that one. Cries every time me and Ollivander come round to harvest a dead dragon."  
  
Arthur broke out in a big smile. "We're looking for dragon gear for this young man."  
  
"Ah," Woodfen said, "let me guess, Hogwarts Proctor. You're a bit young, but you've got the right look in your eyes."  
  
"Yes," Harry said. "I'm. Neville Longbottom."  
  
"Sure you are, old son," Woodfen said with a huge grin. "You're not on my list, but seeing as Harry Potter hasn't shown up I don't think it'll be a problem." A big wink followed the statement.  
  
"Follow me to my workshop then," the shopkeeper said, "dragon gear is a custom job."  
  
As he led the way towards the back Woodfen bellowed: "HENRY! Get y'r lazy arse down here, you've got to mind the shop!"  
  
As they were about to enter the workshop a young man with similar features to Woodfen stepped out and with a "Good morning," went to the counter in the shop.  
  
"Must say, I was surprised when I got Dumbledore's letter. He said he had reinstated the Protectorate Council, had to look that up by the way, and said a few students would be by. Gave me a list, too. Said it would be most likely I'd see you. uhm Harry Potter here and to take good care of you."  
  
"I think the game is up, Harry," Arthur said with a small smile, "he knows exactly who you are."  
  
Harry gave Woodfen a suspicious look but his fears were quickly allayed when Arthur told him that he had owled Dumbledore about the shop and that there was nothing to worry about.  
  
Harry decided that he may as well properly introduce himself. Instead of the normal glance to his scar that he had come to expect, Woodfen only said "Honoured to meet you."  
  
The large man then started to go through a cupboard. From inside his muffled voice came. "The thing about dragon gear is that it's sensitive. If you don't have the right type it'll lose some of its protective value, or worse, it will interfere with your magic."  
  
He stepped out of the cupboard carrying what looked like several slabs of very thick leather in various colours. "What I want you to do, is hold these one by one and tell me what kind of feeling they give you - good or bad."  
  
Harry was first handed a green piece of leather. At first he felt nothing, but slowly he started to feel a bit wary and told this to Woodfen.  
  
"Good, now try this."  
  
Next came a piece of grey.  
  
"I don't like this one," Harry said before he had a chance to think.  
  
Several pieces of leather passed Harry's hands; red, brown, blue and golden, all giving him different reactions, from wariness to comfort.  
  
Then Woodfen handed Harry a piece of toxic green leather. As soon as he had it in his hand, Harry dropped it.  
  
"That burnt," he said with a bit of irritation in his voice.  
  
"It did?" Woodfen asked. "Are you a Sensitive by any chance?"  
  
"A what?" Harry said, confused.  
  
"Never mind. You're a bit of an enigma, old son. It's not that you rejected all of the dragons, but you weren't really satisfied with any of them either. I wonder.?"  
  
Woodfen went into the cupboard again and came out with a bit of black leather.  
  
"Haven't taken this one out since. well since never, actually. My great- great-grandfather harvested this leather. It's from a Large English Black. They're extinct now, hunted down. They were feared by wizards of old; very powerful beasts. Try it." With what came close to reverence, Woodfen handed the leather to Harry.  
  
A surge of magic went through Harry. The only thing he could compare it with was the day he had gotten his wand. Within him, the white light that Harry now correctly identified as his magic seemed to dance with joy.  
  
To the two men it was clear what was happening. For a short moment Harry had been enveloped by a white haze and his hair had stood on end.  
  
"This is the one," Harry whispered in awe.  
  
"Yes, it is," Woodfen whispered back, a look of expectation in his eyes.  
  
"Wait a moment," Arthur interrupted. "I'd hate to be the one to spoil all this, but how much is it going to cost? I mean, we are talking about some very rare leather aren't we?"  
  
"Well, there is of course the fee for moulding the armour, that's standard. As to the leather. I'll be honest, it's going to be more expensive than any of the others, but not as expensive as you might think." Arthur wanted to interrupt at this point but Woodfen held up his hand to let him finish.  
  
"It's going to be more expensive because of the rarity, but it'll be worth it. All dragon leather comes with its own protective qualities. Chinese Fireball armour is renowned for it's resistance to fire, whereas leather from a Hungarian Horntail is nearly impenetrable by any sharp point. They're all resistant to a good deal of magic, but this one. this one will be something special. I can't even guess what this leather could do, it hasn't been used in over 350 years, but I can tell you it will be powerful," Woodfen said with a gleam in his eyes. He then looked at Arthur and lost a little of the sparkle in his eyes. The large man sighed and continued in an patient tone: "I said I'd be honest and so I will. If I don't sell you this, I'll sell you something else; but the fact of the matter is that the chance that I will ever again have a customer for this is slim to none. That's why I'll make you a fair deal."  
  
"What's the bottom line?" Arthur asked.  
  
"Thirty Galleons for the work, three hundred Galleons for the leather," the shopkeeper said without a hitch.  
  
"How much for the others?" Arthur asked, clearly finding the black leather overpriced.  
  
"It varies; the green is thirty, the red thirty-five, the grey."  
  
"I'll take it," Harry said, still a bit breathless.  
  
"You mean the red?" Woodfen asked.  
  
"No, the black, I'll take it."  
  
"Harry, I think it's a bit expensive." Arthur started but with one look at Harry's eyes gave up.  
  
"Wonderful," Woodfen said with glee, "I'll get on it immediately."  
  
Woodfen went to get his wand and what looked like a measuring tape, but it had strange symbols on it.  
  
"Just extend your arms," he said, and with a flick of his wand the measuring tape started to zoom around Harry.  
  
"I'm not sure I brought enough money." Harry ventured, a bit overwhelmed by the speed at which things were going.  
  
As Woodfen kept flicking his wand and taking notes he said: "No problem, most people don't bother to bring that amount of cash. If you have your key, you can just charge it to you Gringotts vault."  
  
After he had finished his measurements, Woodfen went to a storage area at the back of the store. He came back with a fairly large amount of black leather.  
  
"I can't wait to get started on this," he said.  
  
"Do you know what he needs?" Arthur asked.  
  
"Oh yes, it was all in the letter Professor Dumbledore sent me. I even looked up the requirements, and I've had two Proctors here already."  
  
"Who were they?" Harry asked curiously.  
  
"Oh, can't say," Woodfen answered. "Customer confidentiality, you understand. I'll tell you though; one of them was a real pain in the arse. Demanded I mould the leather to personal specks, instead of the standard. I'll have to order new shapes at the blacksmith. But hell, daddy said he'd pay extra, so who am I to argue," he laughed.  
  
The wizard armourer showed them back to the shop.  
  
At the counter he clearly recognized Katie Bell, a Gryffindor 6th year. Would she be a Proctor to? Unfortunately Harry could not go and ask, it would give away his disguise and he figured that he might want to use it in the future. Fortunately she was too busy talking to Henry to notice Arthur, who was clearly recognizable as a Weasley.  
  
Standing only a few feet away from her, while presenting Woodfen with his key to settle the account, Harry felt a bit awkward, as if deceiving a friend.  
  
As Woodfen opened the door to let them out he said: "As per request by the Headmaster, the gear will be sent straight to Hogwarts."  
  
*****  
  
Outside, the rain was pouring, which was a bit disappointing but not entirely unusual for a late August day; a natural consequence of the oppressive heat earlier in the day.  
  
"We best hurry to Madam Malkin's, Harry, or we'll be soaked before we get there."  
  
By the time they passed Gambols & Japes they were both wet to the bone and Harry had to clean off his glasses. Arthur quickly did an Impervius spell and Harry wiped his face before he put them back on.  
  
By the time they got to Gringotts the rain had stopped.  
  
"We should have waited a few minutes, just a few minutes," Arthur grumbled while doing a quick drying charm on his and Harry's clothes. Trying to get a bit drier himself, Harry ran a hand over his face and through his hair to wipe away water.  
  
As if it had never rained at all, Diagon Alley started to be filled up with people again. There were teenage witches and wizards, doing their start of term shopping; wild looking Warlocks, striding purposefully towards their destination; motherly witches, out for a day of shopping and tea with their friends; raucous dwarves, bickering amongst themselves; hags gossiping with each other, and wizards who tried to look as important as possible while they made their way towards the Ministry buildings.  
  
They all had one thing in common. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Harry.  
  
".blimey, it's really him." "It's Harry Potter." "You can see his scar." "I thought he had black hair?" "You think he'd give me an autograph?"  
  
Quicker then seemed possible, more and more people gathered, forming a circular crowd around Harry and Arthur, in front of Madam Malkin's. Everyone was whispering to one another and pointing - pointing to Harry's forehead.  
  
"Oh dear, the muck up smudged because of the rain," Arthur said, when he turned to Harry.  
  
Then a small girl made her way forward and pulled on Harry's sleeve: "Can I have your autograph?"  
  
And before Harry could answer her, or even so much as blush, it seemed like floodgates had been opened by that single question. Wizards and witches, children and adults, came forward in a human tidal wave.  
  
Shouts came from all around Harry; he was pulled, pushed and prodded from all sides. He had to get out of there. Where was Arthur? He needed help  
  
But Harry and Arthur had been separated by the crowd.  
  
"No, don't do that," Harry said in a desperate attempt to get away from a particularly ugly hag who was trying to get his attention by pinching him.  
  
Having to fight to keep his balance, Harry was frightened at the intensity of the crowd.  
  
"Leave me alone," he said, now pushing people away.  
  
But the people took no heed. As was a common occurrence with crowds, the energy it possessed had grown to more than the sum of its parts. Although on an individual level most people there were decent, the crowd had a purpose that had become greater than that of any single person there, and all forms of individuality were swept away. The crowd turned into a mob and it had but one purpose: Get to Harry Potter.  
  
Harry was now starting to panic. What did these people want? They seemed to be on the point of ripping him apart just so they could get some of his attention. Pain, panic, fear and then finally. anger.  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" he screamed, but he was drowned out by the noise the crowd created, no one paid heed.  
  
As Harry felt more and more threatened all these emotions built. Then he felt it. The storm of fear and anger in his soul was being mirrored by the white light in his core. As Harry felt it build, he tried to desperately contain it. He fought it in every way possible, not even noticing the crowd anymore. Images flashed before his eyes; images of the result of the prior unleashing of a similar storm, somewhere in the English countryside. There he had destroyed some trees, a wall and a few bushes. Here he would kill hundreds.  
  
He felt someone dragging him away, into the shop; and with the fraction of concentration he could spare, he saw that it was Arthur.  
  
Inside the shop he was quickly put in a chair, the onslaught of people who wanted to enter the store stopped by the employees and Mrs. Weasley. A quick locking charm and several unbreakables were cast and the shop was safe. "Are you all right, Harry?" asked Hermione in a very worried tone of voice.  
  
Barely being able to spare the attention, Harry looked up to her and gasped: "Burrow. quickly,"  
  
"Calm down, Harry, you're safe now," Arthur said, one hand patting Harry's shoulder. He then made his way to his wife, to check on the cast charms.  
  
Using all the willpower he could muster, one last time Harry gasped "Need Burrow.now. magic." He was losing the fight in his inner being. The magic storm had taken on a life of its own, no longer under his control. He could feel it inching closer to the surface, bit by bit, while he was becoming less and less able to fight it, to contain it.  
  
True to form, Hermione suddenly understood. "Oh Lord, we have to get him to the Burrow, NOW!" she shouted.  
  
"But Hermione.," Ron thought to placate her.  
  
Ignoring Ron, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him towards the fireplace, which was common to wizarding shops.  
  
"HE NEEDS THE WARDS!" she screamed, frantically looking for Floo powder.  
  
Ron looked at his friends a bit sheepishly, not understanding, but suddenly realisation seemed to hit Arthur.  
  
"Merlin, help us." he whispered, a desperate look flowing over his face, he had seen the site of destruction.  
  
Quicker than any of his children had ever seen him move, he ran towards the fireplace. Not breaking stride, he grabbed a delicate golden box sitting on top of a mahogany table, opened it and took some powder out of it. The box fell to the floor, discarded. Still not interrupting what seemed like one fluent movement he grabbed Harry with one arm, holding him against his chest, threw the powder into the fire and yelled at the top of his lungs: "THE BURROW."  
  
A green flame surged from the fireplace and Arthur dived into it headlong, still clutching Harry tightly to his chest.  
  
Harry was only vaguely aware of the ride; most of his attention was focused inwards. He had always disliked Floo travel, but from what he did notice this was worse then anything he had ever experienced before. He could constantly feel himself scraping against rough surfaces and being bumped against hard places like a billiard ball.  
  
Head first, the two came out of the fireplace at the Burrow.  
  
A/N If you wish to be notified of the next update just leave your email address with your review. Thank you to all of you who took the time to review, I really appreciate it.  
  
Traveller 


	14. Chapter XIII

Chapter XIII  
  
"Is Harry alright?" Was the first thing Ron yelled when he floo-ed into the Burrow.  
  
Mrs. Weasley, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, was tending to her husband's scrapes and bruises.  
  
"We've put him to bed, dear. He just has some."  
  
Hermione arrived.  
  
"Where's Harry?" she yelled, looking frantic.  
  
With a sigh, Mrs. Weasley started anew. "We've put him to bed. He just has some cuts and he's exhausted. There is nothing to worry about. We thought it best to leave it to Madam Pomfrey under the circumstances, she'll be here."  
  
Before she could say more, Ron and Hermione were running up the stairs, on their way to see their best friend. Exasperated, Mrs. Weasley turned back to her husband.  
  
As he barged into his room first, Ron saw his best friend. He was as pale as Ron had ever seen him; his face was covered with small cuts and bruises. Added to that, it was contorted with worry, anger and fear. All this, while he was sleeping.  
  
"He looks so vulnerable," Hermione said.  
  
Ron only nodded, still distraught from what had almost happened.  
  
Repeatedly demanding answers, after his father had taken Harry and made the desperate jump into the Floo network, from a very distraught Hermione had not been one of his best ideas. Finally snapping, Hermione had screamed an explanation at him. She had been in a state of panic and frantic worry; he was not used to this from her and his reaction had not been his best performance ever; he had yelled back, scared himself now, not understanding.  
  
He had yelled, she had yelled, and they had thrown non-sensical arguments at each other until Hermione had finally seen the futility of the entire argument and had calmly explained what could have happened, what would have happened to all of them in a very cold and precise tone of voice.  
  
After that he had taken a seat and shivers had overcome him.  
  
'It was damned scary, you know. I was glad Hermione was able to get through to him. I mean, it's Harry, but the look of power and anger he had. bloody scary, it was,' he had said to Seamus, and he hadn't known how right he was.  
  
"He looks so tired," he said, trying to drive away his thoughts of fear.  
  
"He's not resting, you can just see he's having dreams again," Hermione added. "He's not screaming anymore, not even talking in his sleep. He used to do that, remember? Just after the Tri-Wizard competition. Now he doesn't even move."  
  
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Ron asked. "It means the dreams aren't as bad now."  
  
"No," Hermione answered in a bitter voice, "it means he's getting used to them, that he's hiding them from us."  
  
The two friends stood there for a while, both deep in thought about the third of their number. Then Hermione stepped forward and sat on the top end of the bed. Slowly she moved Harry's head from his pillow onto her lap and she started to stroke his forehead with her left hand. Then she moved her right hand to his chest and put it on the breastbone, just under his neck.  
  
Ron just stood there, a bit shocked by what she was doing. She had done it before, but that had been when Harry was in the Hospital, and she hadn't done the chest thing then. His face must have shown something because when Hermione looked at him, she blushed.  
  
She whispered: "There is a gland just about here," and she indicated with her left hand. "When properly stimulated and kept warm, it reduces the amount of adrenaline in the body. It will allow him sleep more calmly. Not waiting for his reaction, she turned her gaze back to Harry and saw his face, even his whole body, lose some of its tension. The pained expression and the grim set of his mouth seemed to diminish just a little and so she kept doing what she could.  
  
Not knowing what to do, Ron turned while muttering: "I'll leave him to his sleep then," and left the room.  
  
*****  
  
Madam Pomfrey had come and gone before Harry woke up; healing his cuts and bruises while he slept. Ron and Hermione could hear her mutter through the door all through her work. Everyone had been banned from the room except Mrs. Weasley, who remained to 'assist' the school nurse. The truth was that she just didn't leave when the others were evicted.  
  
Harry once again woke up physically fine, but exhausted, fortunately less so than before. After he had spoken to his friends, they went down for dinner. The tension could be cut with a knife.  
  
On one hand were the Weasleys and Hermione, who were trying to act as normal as possible around Harry, giving the evening a forced attitude. On the other hand there was Harry, who was quiet and introverted, remembering what had almost happened. He felt himself unable to look anyone in the eye for very long.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey left a letter from Dumbledore for you, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said after dinner. As she gave it to him, he could see something new in her eyes: pity. He didn't want pity, he didn't deserve pity and he didn't need it; he resented it. For the first time he wished he was somewhere else.  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
I must request you to come to Hogwarts tomorrow instead of two days hence. Today's events have shown me that we must take immediate action and create a more permanent answer to your circumstance.  
  
I have instructed Madam Pomfrey to replace your Proctor badge with a new one. It will take you to Hogwarts tomorrow morning at ten o'clock.  
  
As I am aware of the abrupt end of your visit to Diagon Alley and the subsequent lack of clothing, I have taken the liberty of making arrangements to remedy this situation.  
  
Until tomorrow,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
What's it say, Harry?" Ron asked.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore wants me to come to Hogwarts a day early. I leave tomorrow morning at ten o'clock," Harry said quietly.  
  
"I'm sure he can help you, Harry," Hermione said, trying to sound comforting.  
  
"I hope so," Harry whispered. Then in a louder voice he said: "May I be excused? I think I want to do a little flying."  
  
"Of course, dear. Be careful."  
  
"Want some company, mate?" Ron asked.  
  
"No, thank you. I think I'd like to be alone for a while.  
  
Harry grabbed his Firebolt and stepped out the door, not noticing the worried stares.  
  
*****  
  
As he mounted his broom and shot off into the dark, he felt a large part of his worries leave him. Flying always did this to him; he felt free of the world he had left beneath him and it almost seemed that with that world, he had also left his problems behind.  
  
Leisurely he circled the Burrow a few times, just enjoying the sensation of being airborne; then he shot up into the night sky, becoming a blur, and made a turn towards the clearing where all the impromptu Quidditch games had been held. There, when he was at the very centre, he made the manoeuvre he had seen at the World Cup: The Wronski Feint. Fast as he could he turned his broom downward. As he felt the amazing acceleration of his Firebolt, he only urged it on. Faster and faster he went as he saw the ground shooting up towards him. Only at the very last moment did he pull up, skirting the ground by bare inches. It was the rush of a lifetime.  
  
He had waited a whole year to do this under normal conditions and he couldn't wait to do it again. Slowly he circled upward, giving himself a moment to catch his breath.  
  
He repeated the manoeuvre several times, every one of them bringing exhilaration and distraction. In the shadow stood a female figure, who made sure she was not seen, but saw everything. She was glad to see Harry like this, even if her heart shot up in her throat every time he repeated the dangerous manoeuvre; she hated seeing the burden he carried in his eyes. After a while she left, leaving The Boy Who Lived to his few moments of happiness.  
  
****  
  
When he was exhausted, Harry stepped into the Burrow, finding that everyone had gone to bed; everyone except Arthur, who was sitting in front of the fireplace, reading.  
  
"Feel better?"  
  
"Yes," Harry simply answered.  
  
He walked towards the cupboard, took out a glass and then sat down across from his best friend's father. He picked up the bottle from the table and filled his shot glass.  
  
"I'm sure Dumbledore has a solution," Arthur said, watching the boy's movements.  
  
"I think so too," Harry answered. As he drained his glass, he didn't even shiver. He emptied another.  
  
"I think I'll try to get some sleep. Goodnight." And Harry stood up and went upstairs  
  
*****  
  
Early in the morning Harry woke up. Downstairs he fixed his breakfast, and while he waited for the rest, made preparations for the family breakfast that would be in about an hour.  
  
As everyone came down, he made them all the breakfast of their choice, despite the almost constant protest from Mrs. Weasley. When he wanted to do the dishes as well, he was summarily dismissed.  
  
"If my sons know what's good for them, they'll have these dishes done within ten minutes. None of them ever made me breakfast." she said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.  
  
"You've gone and done it now. We'll never be able to live this one down," Fred whispered in passing.  
  
"Why don't you go pack your trunk, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said.  
  
A bit baffled, Harry stood there. "I forgot to buy a new one." he said.  
  
"No you didn't," Arthur told him. "You already have a new one. It was a birthday present from Sirius. He was so convinced you would make a recovery, that he went ahead and had Remus buy you one. You go ahead and get your things; someone will bring it to you in a moment."  
  
Happy about Sirius' foresight and confidence, Harry went up to Ron's room and started to gather his things.  
  
There wasn't much; only his books and supplies, the few clothes he had, and the toiletries Mrs. Weasley had gotten him.  
  
Nothing else.  
  
Hermione came into the room, dragging a chest.  
  
"Ron and the twins are still doing the dishes while Mrs. Weasley and Ginny are keeping an eye on them, and Mr. Weasley fled the scene, so I thought I'd bring up your trunk."  
  
Harry didn't turn around; he kept staring at his possessions silently.  
  
"Harry?" she asked tentatively.  
  
Harry's shoulders seemed to be making shuddering movements. Hermione dropped the trunk and moved towards her best friend; slowly she put a hand on his shoulder, his back still turned to her.  
  
"Harry?" she whispered.  
  
"They're gone." the answer came in a constrained voice.  
  
"What's gone, Harry?"  
  
He turned towards her; she saw tears coming from his eyes. They were the first tears she had seen on his face since before his hospitalisation. Maybe the first free flowing tears ever. The look in his eyes was worse then she had ever seen. She had seen him at his best and probably at his worst; full of elation after winning the Quidditch Cup and haunted by the horrors that filled his eyes as he had told her some of his nightmares and a part of the things that had happened in the last year.  
  
Now she saw a loss in his eyes so profound, it almost made her cry.  
  
"I just didn't realise." he whispered.  
  
Out of instinct Hermione hugged him, pulling him close to her. "What, Harry?"  
  
"It was all that I had left of them." he said, not making real sense to her.  
  
She waited until he felt the need to say more, silently holding him, feeling tears drip from his face onto her shoulder.  
  
"My father's cloak. and my photo album.I hadn't realised."  
  
"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry."  
  
Hermione didn't know what else to say. She knew how much he valued these possessions, his only link to his parents.  
  
Suddenly Harry went rigid and he stepped back, his face as hard as stone. "They're just pictures, I'm sure there are others." He turned around and picked up his scant possessions, brusquely put them into the chest and stormed out of the room, dragging his luggage with him.  
  
Hermione was left standing, confused. Harry had never been very open with his feelings, understandable given his upbringing, but he had never been dishonest. Never had she been let in and then shut out like he had just done. Wondering what to do, she stood there for a few moments until she followed him downstairs.  
  
*****  
  
When Hermione stepped into the living room, there was such chaos surrounding Harry's imminent departure, she didn't have a chance to talk to him about it and she suspected he wouldn't appreciate her bringing it up in public. It would have to wait until school began, but it was only a postponement.  
  
"Are you sure you have everything, dear?"  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"Do you have your badge on?"  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"Now, remember to take your potions, dear."  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"Remember to hold on to your trunk."  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"I'm sure Harry has everything under control, dear," Arthur came to the rescue.  
  
"Yes, but." Mrs. Weasley began.  
  
"Just let him say goodbye to everyone first, then you can go on," her husband said with a smile.  
  
"Well, I never." she began to say, but Harry wasn't paying attention anymore, as the twins had descended upon him.  
  
"Now, Harry." Fred began.  
  
".we know that you're a Proctor and all now." George continued.  
  
".but you have to remember, you're not a Prefect." Fred took over.  
  
".unlike some little brother that will remain nameless." his twin said with an evil grin towards their youngest brother.  
  
".oh yes, nameless. The disgrace is just unbearable..."  
  
".just imagine, he may even become Head Boy."  
  
".Now that would truly be terrible."  
  
"Is there a point to this ranting?" Ron huffed.  
  
"Hmm, yes, back to our original point." George said, looking as if wondering what his original point had been.  
  
"We just wanted to let you know." Fred said, remembering what he had meant to say.  
  
".That we'll be bringing the MML to Hogwarts." George now whispered into Harry's left ear.  
  
". and that it's available to you anytime," Fred whispered into Harry's right ear.  
  
As the Twins retreated he caught a disapproving glace from Hermione. He already felt guilty about what had happened earlier. He had not meant to shut her out like that, but it had been an instinctive reaction.  
  
Now, she probably knew exactly what the Twins had been telling him and that brought up another reason to be upset with him, although he thought she had understood his reasons.  
  
Ron came forward and slapped him on his shoulders.  
  
"Now, don't you go off having fun and adventures without us. Just make sure you're a good little Proctor or I'm sure the big bad Prefect Hermione will make your life hell."  
  
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, but was clearly fighting a smile. Once again Ron had hit exactly the right note to alleviate tension he was probably not even aware of.  
  
"If you mean by adventure: being in trouble with no idea how to get out of it, all the time being afraid of either detention or imminent death. don't worry, I'll wait for you," Harry answered in a amused voice.  
  
"I hope they let you come on the train; if not, we'll see you at the feast, if they don't throw you out first that is," Ron said with a smirk.  
  
Harry only let out an amused growl but was distracted by a hug from Hermione. "Just be careful Harry, and remember, if anything happens: go to Dumbledore!"  
  
Still feeling a bit guilty about what he had done previously, Harry hugged Hermione back tightly and then on impulse gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll see you on the train or at Hogwarts. Are you staying here?"  
  
"Hmm, what? Oh, only for another day, then I'm spending the last days with my parents," Hermione answered. "They say they don't see me enough, with me spending most of my other holidays at school."  
  
"Four minutes to go," Mr. Weasley interrupted. He took Harry's hand and shook it, man to man, "Remember what I told you Harry, and if you ever need somewhere to come home to, you are welcome here."  
  
"Thank you. for everything, Arthur."  
  
Ron spluttered in surprise: "Since when do you call my father by his first name?"  
  
But he was mostly ignored as a quick hug followed from Mrs. Weasley together with several last minute admonishments. Harry stepped towards his trunk.  
  
Well, that's everyone. No, wait; I haven't said goodbye to Ginny yet."  
  
"Wait, don't go yet," came a loud yell from up the stairs. Ginny came barrelling down the steps at top speed, flailing her arm to keep her balance. At the bottom of the stairs she saw everyone standing there, instead of in the kitchen where she was expecting them. Due to the speed at which she was moving she couldn't stop herself and instead crashed into Harry in a full frontal assault, knocking him off his feet. As Harry felt himself going down, Ginny following him close behind, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, trying to shield her from the fall.  
  
"Oomph," was the only sound he made when he hit the ground.  
  
"I am so sorry," Ginny immediately said, putting her hands on his chest to keep stable, "I was afraid I wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye, I had lost track of time and."  
  
"Ginny!" Harry interrupted.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's alright, we still have one or two minutes," he said in a phlegmatic voice, as he moved his hands to her sides as to keep her steady.  
  
"Oh, okay. Well I just wanted to say goodbye and I'll see you at Hogwarts. Oh, and I."  
  
"Ginny," Harry again interrupted.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Would you mind getting of me now?"  
  
"What? OH!" Ginny exclaimed and immediately turned a very interesting shade of red. It was probably deeper than any Harry had seen before, and he seen quite a few variations. He also noticed that it went all the way down her neck right towards. Well, right towards where it was none of his business.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she started to apologize again as she was moving off him.  
  
As Harry's view became unblocked he could quite clearly see Fred, George and Arthur smirking, barely containing their laughter. Ron and Hermione seemed to be somewhere between amused and annoyed, while Mrs. Weasley managed to keep a completely straight face.  
  
"It was an accident, I understand. Don't worry about it."  
  
"One minute to go," Mr. Weasley interrupted.  
  
"Oh, better get your things then," Ginny said nervously.  
  
As Harry took a quick hold of his trunk and broom he turned to what was in effect his extended family.  
  
"Goodbye, everyone," he said.  
  
"Goodbye, Harry," Ginny said and gave him a quick and uncertain hug followed by a kiss on the cheek.  
  
Before Harry could say anything or even take in the indignant faces of Ron and his brothers, he felt the unsettling pull of the Portkey and The Burrow disappeared. He hated Portkey travel.  
  
*****  
  
As sudden as The Burrow had disappeared, as abrupt was the appearance of the front gate of Hogwarts. Harry had apparently arrived just outside of the outer wall of the castle grounds and before him were the massive badger, eagle, snake and lion guarding the entrance.  
  
"Harry Potter, Harry Potter is here," he heard a squeaky but familiar voice before he was crashed into for the second time that day; fortunately, he didn't fall this time.  
  
As he looked down he saw Dobby, the house-elf, attached to his leg, his small arms wrapped around the limb.  
  
"Dobby is so happy that Harry Potter Sir is back at Hogwarts were he is safe. Dobby heard all about what happened to Harry Potter Sir, and Dobby is going to take extra good care of Harry Potter Sir. Is there anything Dobby can get for Harry Potter Sir?"  
  
Totally overwhelmed but also a bit touched by the house-elf's display of affection, Harry didn't know anything better to say to say than: "No, thank you Dobby, I don't need anything right now. I have to see Professor Dumbledore, he's expecting me."  
  
"Yes, Dobby was sent to get Harry Potter Sir by the Headmaster. Dobby almost forgot; bad Dobby, bad Dobby," the house-elf squeaked as he hit his head against one of the statues.  
  
"Stop it, Dobby," Harry said as he grabbed the distraught house-elf. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore doesn't expect you to punish yourself like this."  
  
"Oh, but Harry Potter, Dobby is now keeping Headmaster's most important secrets. Dobby should be more careful, Headmaster trusts Dobby to do important things now." The house-elf was about to bang his head once more, but was stopped by Harry again.  
  
"I'm quite sure Professor Dumbledore doesn't want you to do this. Besides, we're keeping him waiting like this." As Harry saw the tears that were about to burst from Dobby's eyes, he knew this had been the wrong thing to say. "You know what? Let's just go to the headmaster first and then later you can ask him if he wants you punished. now doesn't that seem fair?"  
  
"Yes, Harry Potter, that is fair. Dobby knew Harry Potter is a great wizard, but Dobby didn't know that Harry Potter is also very wise. Dobby is very honoured to know Harry Potter."  
  
Dobby grabbed Harry's hand and almost dragged him along through the gates of Hogwarts. As they passed the gates Harry had the indefinable feeling they were passing an unseen barrier and only in the corner of his eyes did he seem to see a faint golden light shimmer.  
  
"Headmaster has been telling Dobby what is going to happen; Harry Potter is going to be given a great honour," the house-elf prattled on while dragging Harry behind him.  
  
"What are you talking about Dobby, what's going to happen?" he asked in surprise.  
  
"Dobby can't tell, Dobby is a good house-elf and is keeping all of Headmaster's secrets."  
  
Harry thought they must have made a bizarre picture while they were walking through the castle; the small house-elf walking in front of a young wizard, dragging him by the hand and not looking back.  
  
As they arrived at the gargoyle that was the sentry to Dumbledore's office, Dobby squeaked "butterscotch" and the guardian moved, revealing the moving stairs to the Headmaster's office.  
  
As they made their way upstairs, Harry looked at the paintings that hung in the staircase. Instead of sleeping, like they had done any other time he had visited the Headmaster's office, the paintings seemed to be wide awake and whispering among themselves. As Harry and Dobby stepped into the office, they were immediately greeted by Albus Dumbledore. "Ah, Harry so glad you could make it. Dobby, thank you for escorting Harry, you may go and tend to your other duties now."  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," the house-elf squeaked back, taking his leave.  
  
"Now, Harry, sit down, we have a lot to talk about."  
  
As they both sat down in two comfortable leather chairs that were positioned at a window of the circular room , a small table beside each one, Dumbledore waved his wand and a pot of tea, two cups and a plate of scones appeared. "Ah, Coconut scones, my favourite," the professor said as he enthusiastically rubbed his hands together.  
  
"Spot of tea, Harry?"  
  
Nervous and not knowing what was ahead, Harry was glad with the delay. "Yes, please."  
  
"Sugar?"  
  
"One lump, please."  
  
As Professor Dumbledore prepared the tea, he went on to chat congenially.  
  
"I hoped you enjoyed your stay at the Burrow. The Weasleys are such a wonderful family, especially Molly, now there is an exceptional wife, mother and woman; has an excellent tea, too; this is some of her blend incidentally. The house-elves just can't find it and she won't tell where she gets it." As the Professor talked on, Harry's attention wavered with a nervous fitfulness.  
  
The office was still filled with all kinds of interesting gadgets, objects and magical items. Among them there was the familiar Sorting Hat, and Gryffindor's sword was displayed on a pedestal next to a large bookcase. Fawkes was absent. As his gazed wandered further, Harry heard Dumbledore continue with small talk. While he sipped some tea, he answered absentmindedly. On a shelf, tucked away behind a few books, Harry clearly recognized the crystal that he had filled with magic earlier, but it had lost its white glow and was now nothing more than a beautiful piece of art.  
  
"Small talk, there is nothing quite like it, but I see that you have too much on your mind, Mr. Potter. Let us cut to the heart of the matter, shall we?" the Headmaster said with a small smile.  
  
Harry now focused his full attention on the venerable wizard, hoping to hear the words he so desperately wanted to hear, that there was a solution.  
  
"We both know what happened in the countryside, and what almost happened yesterday," Dumbledore said, a serious note in his voice now. "You will understand that unless we can produce a solution, you can not attend Hogwarts, it would just be too dangerous."  
  
Harry only nodded; this was what he feared more than anything except hurting those close to him.  
  
"I may have an answer to your predicament, but I must warn you that there are no certainties and that it entails a big decision on your part."  
  
"I will do almost anything to. get myself under control," Harry stated in a very flat voice.  
  
"I know you will, my boy; good. First I have to recount a little history, to give you some background for my solution." Dumbledore leaned back in his comfortable chair and put his hands together.  
  
"When Hogwarts was founded, a great many spells were incorporated into the structure. You will possibly learn some of them in the future, but the only one that matters for this conversation is 'magus moderatio'. This spell allows for wild 'surges' of magic, as are often found in young wizards and witches, to be controlled. Do you have any questions so far?"  
  
Harry shook his head, thinking that Hermione probably knew all of this.  
  
"The problem we face now is twofold. Your magic is too strong for the spell to control and your magic works differently now. Emotions have always had influence on anyone's magic, but with you it seems to be, for lack of a better word, interwoven. This only serves to make any 'surge' even more powerful. The fact of the matter is Hogwarts can not help you in this."  
  
It was as he had feared; he was going to be expelled. He would be unable to see his friends again and he would have to leave the only place he had ever called home.  
  
"As you know, I and a great many people have been looking for a solution ever since we became aware of the problem. After your first episode, we intensified our efforts. Our first line of thinking turned out to be a failure. We thought to put wards between you and any intense emotions. Unfortunately, this only served to build up an even more powerful surge."  
  
They had failed, he knew it. Dumbledore was just trying to soften the blow, but any moment now he would say that it was hopeless.  
  
"After making endeavours into various wards, charms, potions and other sorts of magic we were stuck, we had no solutions and no more options."  
  
This was it, here came the axe.  
  
"Strangely enough it was Professor Binns who handed me the solution. He visits me in my office sometimes, you know; we were friends when he was alive. As I told him of our dilemma, he started telling of wizard education before Hogwarts. And there we found our answer."  
  
Harry opened one eye, only now realising he had closed them to soften the blow. He wasn't going to be sent away?  
  
"Tell me Harry, do you know anything about the practice of apprenticing?"  
  
For once he was glad that Hermione was so stern when it came to the rules and he had been paying cursory attention for this particular class. It had been part of their information when they chose their classes for third year.  
  
"A wizard or witch can apprentice when he or she wants to specialize in a field, like becoming a Potions Master or a Seer," he said, trying to remember everything he had read back then, but not really paid attention to.  
  
"A bit shortened, but in essence, true," Dumbledore said with that knowing twinkle in his eyes. "But that is what it is now. As you no doubt remember from History of Magic, things used to be quite different. Before the founding of Hogwarts and other schools like it, a young witch or wizard would apprentice to a master wizard or witch in order to learn their magic. This used to be a practise of handing down knowledge from father to son and mother to daughter, but the advent of more and more Muggleborns and the increasing size of wizarding families made this practise outdated. Then Hogwarts was founded, and as more and more people discovered the advantages of institutionalized education, the practise of apprenticing became much like it is today."  
  
Harry wondered what all this had to do with him, but was coming to know Dumbledore well enough to comprehend that the powerful wizard would come to his point in his own time. Actually, he found he was enjoying the lecture; it was distracting him from his problems.  
  
"What most people don't remember these days is that the apprentice-master relationship went much further than that of teacher-student. Not only did the master wizard impart his knowledge, but he also helped the young wizard to harness and control his power until the day that the apprentice was ready to do that for himself. That function was later taken over by the wards here at Hogwarts, which leave a magical residue, even when the pupil is not at the school, to make sure he or she is safe during the holidays. Do you have any questions, Harry?"  
  
Harry wanted to know how this all would contribute to the solution of his problem, but decided to wait before letting his impatience get the better of him. He had to remember that self-control was much more important to him now. So the only thing he did was shake his head.  
  
"Good; very good of you, to endure the doddering of an old man, Mr. Potter.  
  
Now, for our solution. It's actually quite simple; you, Harry, will become my apprentice." 


	15. Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV  
  
Apprentice? Of everything imaginable, this was not what Harry had been expecting. He had thought of charms and spells, vile potions, trials and tribulations. but not this. The thought of becoming Dumbledore's apprentice was mind boggling. The most powerful wizard in the world had just offered to make him his apprentice, to guide and teach him. teach him what, exactly?  
  
Something must have shown on Harry's face besides astonishment, because Dumbledore asked: "You have a question?"  
  
"Well, sir. what will you teach me? I mean, apprentice in what?" Harry asked.  
  
This seemed to catch Dumbledore off guard, as if he himself had not thought of this yet. "Well." the old wizard said, "Ah. Well. what would you like to learn?"  
  
What would he like to learn? That was a question no one had ever asked Harry before, not personally anyway. What would he like to learn? A hundred different thoughts popped into Harry's head; learn how to defeat Voldemort? Transfiguration? How to become a Charms Master? Dragons, alchemy, the list was almost endless.  
  
"There are so many things. what could you teach me, sir?"  
  
"Excellent question, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "I could teach you charms, curses, potions, alchemy, the gift of languages and many other things."  
  
Dumbledore's demeanour seemed to change subtly; gone was the twinkling in the eyes, gone was the benign smile. Instead, Dumbledore began to radiate power, shadows seemed to spring up in the office as the light seemed to subside; Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the very air seemed to crackle with magic.  
  
"I could teach you the twelve known and four secret uses of dragon's blood, the secrets of the Philosopher's stone, the five minor and two greater Words of Power. I can show you how to make Wizard's Fire, that most perilous of magical manifestations, ordained for only those most powerful of magic users. I could make you a sorcerer and teach you how to conjure illusions that would bewitch and befuddle the greatest minds of the age; I could make you a warlock and teach you the most powerful curses; initiate you in the secret Flame of Alnof and teach you ancient and forgotten magic. Would you like to become a healer and go out into the world? I can instruct you. Learn the secrets of Hogwarts and become the greatest builder of our time. I can teach you to kill and heal, build and destroy."  
  
Then Dumbledore's face softened and the smile was back.  
  
"I'm also told I'm a fair dance instructor and musician, and I know an interesting variation on ten-pin bowling. What would you like to learn, Harry?" the enigmatic wizard asked with a broad gesture. "You have only to ask."  
  
Harry contemplated what he had just been told; so many things to choose from, so many interesting options. This was more of what he wanted to learn; not the rigid courses that were the rule in a school, this was real life. What should he choose? How should he choose? Sorcerer, Warlock, Healer. it all sounded like something he would want to learn at some point in his life.  
  
"All of it." It was out of his mouth at the moment he had thought of it, before his brain could wrap itself around it. All of it? Impossible, Dumbledore would probably laugh and tell him to make a choice; worse yet, what if he said yes, think of the amount of homework.  
  
"Wonderful," Dumbledore said with an exuberant smile, "all of it, it is."  
  
Gaping for a moment at the Headmaster's unexpected reaction, Harry had trouble focusing on his next question; with effort he found his voice.  
  
"Professor, may I ask how this all will help with my magic? Will you be using magic to keep me calm like you did at the trial? Or wards like you did at The Burrow?"  
  
"Neither, Mr. Potter. You must understand that when you become my apprentice, we will form a bond. This bond is not just an agreement between you and me to teach and learn, but also a bond of magic. You and I will become linked, and through this link my magic will protect you from your own magic. This is completely different from what I did before. Before, I blocked your emotions from your conscious mind and your magic, preventing any disturbances. I think it is at this time obvious these methods are not viable."  
  
Harry felt a shiver as he remembered how close he had come to losing control or even going over that edge, not once, but three times. No, blocking his emotions by magic did not work.  
  
"All right, what do I do?" Harry asked.  
  
"Ah, the impatience of youth," the headmaster said with a small smile. "It is not you, who does; but rather we, who do, and not yet. To form the bond between master and apprentice is not a matter of waving a wand and saying a few incantations. It is a profound ceremony, not only magically but also socially. In the old books I have read on the subject it was not unheard of to have hundreds of guests at a ceremony followed by a feast, especially if the youth came from an important family."  
  
Harry was horrified with the prospect of the attention the ceremony would get. Hundreds of people would want to be present; although he was loathe to admit it, both Dumbledore and The Boy Who Lived drew attention.  
  
Dumbledore saw the horror on Harry's face and smiled while saying: "I think we can discount the formalities and keep this a private ceremony, but the ritual magic is necessary. We will have the ceremony tonight.  
  
Lemon Drop?"  
  
*****  
  
Dumbledore and Harry were still drinking tea and discussing the details of what would happen that night, when a knock came up from the gargoyle; its sound came from down the stairs, but the clarity was as if someone was knocking on wood next to Harry's ear.  
  
Dumbledore made a gesture with his wand and Harry heard the distinct sound of the gargoyle moving.  
  
"Harry, I've taking the liberty of inviting a guest. As I understand it, you have had no time to buy new clothes. Ah, our guest is here."  
  
A small man, just about Flitwick's size entered the room. On his face were incredibly thick glasses, which enlarged his eyes to the size of saucers. He wore complicated robes which were covered with needles and pins; around his neck was a measuring tape.  
  
With him he levitated a large suitcase, so large in fact that it came all the way up to the top of the little man's head when it stood upon the floor. Behind him followed several House-elves, all dressed up in the same manner, wearing uniforms that were made up out of what seemed like cloth leftovers put together; they too were levitating suitcases.  
  
"Ah, Albus, my dear friend, how are you today?" the little man said in a surprisingly deep voice with a very stiff accent.  
  
"Fine as always, Gregory. You look well."  
  
"Life is good to me. Tell me, how are those robes with the stars and moon motif working for you?"  
  
"Ah, yes, some of your finest work. I wore them to the opening feast last year."  
  
"Last year? Has it been so long? I seem to remember making them only yesterday."  
  
Dumbledore produced a wide smile "You always seem to think that. Now, let me introduce Mr. Harry Potter to you.  
  
Harry, this is Mr. Gregory Fillamment."  
  
The small wizard stepped forward and grabbed Harry's outstretched hand.  
  
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."  
  
Confused as to the purpose of the little wizard, Harry politely smiled and underwent the familiar flick up to his scar.  
  
"How do you do?" he returned politely.  
  
"Harry, Mr. Fillamment is my tailor. He makes all my clothes and robes. I've asked him here to make sure you had clothes," Dumbledore explained.  
  
"I'm very honoured to add you to my clientele, Mr. Potter. I cater to a very exclusive circle of people, but it's always a pleasure to include a wizard of your esteem," the small wizard said with a smile.  
  
"I've brought with me some samples, so you can see what you would like. Albus has given me to understand that you will need a full range of clothing including Muggle and school wear."  
  
The tailor and his house-elves were placing the numerous suitcases next to each other as if on display while the little wizard kept talking.  
  
"Normally I specialize in exclusive robes and cloaks, but with the help of my assistants, there will be no problems meeting your needs. I even took the liberty of visiting a colleague of mine and have provided footwear."  
  
Having finished placing the suitcases around the room, Mr. Fillamment waved his wand and the suitcases were enlarged by half. Quickly the numerous house-elves went to their respective suitcases and opened them like you would a closet with one door.  
  
Each suitcase contained either a range of clothing or was filled with cloth samples. The fabric samples ranged from the normal to the absurd in colour, and from plain to incredibly intricate designs that seemed to deceive the eye and change every few seconds.  
  
The clothes had the same broad spectrum in choice. Harry saw robes, simple and complicated; Muggle clothing, ranging from simple pants and sweaters to suits, tuxedos and everything in between. There were socks, cloaks, coats, hats, shoes, gloves and, to Harry's embarrassment, a full range of underwear.  
  
"Since I knew nothing of your preferences and tastes, I took the liberty of bringing a wide variety of choices. I think we can discard most of it very quickly and then choose your attire. What would you like to choose first?"  
  
Completely overwhelmed that all these clothes were there just for him, Harry could only stand there, gaping. He had never had more than the hand-me-downs from Dudley and his school robes. The only truly nice clothing he had ever had was his dress robes, which were now destroyed, and the formal robes and clothing Dumbledore had given him. What did he know about picking out clothes?  
  
Picking up on Harry's wariness when it came to selecting clothes, Mr. Fillamment stepped forward.  
  
"Maybe it would be easier to start with your school robes?" he asked.  
  
Harry, still gawping at the wide assortment, only nodded.  
  
"Please extend your arms so I may take your measurements," the little wizard said and proceeded to have his magical measuring tape measure every square inch of Harry's body.  
  
"Now, Hogwarts robes are of course black," the tailor said while writing in his notepad, "and you are a Gryffindor?" he asked while looking over the rim of his spectacles.  
  
Harry nodded once more.  
  
"And you will of course need ties, sweaters, and so on in those colours, with the right crest. Now, what would you need in other circumstances.? Robes of course, cloaks. You were raised by Muggles, weren't you?" he asked, but not waiting for an answer, Mr. Fillamment continued to write in his note book. "So you will want Muggle clothing as well. You'll of course need the basics like socks, shoes, underwear (boxers or briefs by the way?) and shirts. Will you be requiring dress- and formal robes?"  
  
Harry looked at Dumbledore to answer these questions, by this time completely overwhelmed.  
  
"A few formal robes and cloaks for now Gregory, dress robes can wait," the headmaster said with a smile.  
  
Harry was beginning to worry. Not that he minded the clothes, but he had never had that many to begin with and to buy an entire wardrobe just like this would probably cost more money than he had ever spent in his life, but Dumbledore seemed to take it all in stride, so he would too.  
  
"Will you want them in traditional style?" the tailor asked.  
  
Again Harry looked at the Headmaster for answers; he had no idea what the little wizard was talking about.  
  
"Traditional, Gregory. I will provide you with the proper colours and designs later."  
  
"No need, I am quite sure I have them. Now as to casual wear, what colours and fabric would you like? Feel free to look at the samples I brought," Mr. Fillamment said with a gesture toward the suitcases.  
  
Harry randomly looked into one of the suitcases. There was a wide variety of colours to choose from. Gryffindor red, blood red, dozens of variations on red; Ravenclaw blue- 'Cho wears that colour often' an unbidden thought came- brown, black, Slytherin green, grey, yellow- Hufflepuff yellow. like Cedric had been wearing the day he was killed.  
  
"Black."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Black, I want my clothes to be black."  
  
"Black is always a good choice. And if I might add, combined with some shades of green they would."  
  
"You don't understand," Harry said, his back still turned to the two elder wizards, "I don't want colours, I want black."  
  
"But surely you want some colours?" the little wizard exclaimed. "You could wear some colours to great effect. Green, like I said, or red and even blue would suit you very well. Maybe."  
  
"Black!" Harry said with a harsh voice, turning towards the tailor, fixing him with an intense stare.  
  
A bit of shock and then disappointment was visible on the tailor's face.  
  
"As you wish, sir. What material would you like me to use for your various choices?"  
  
Harry's mind was distracted from his thoughts of yellow. Materials? He had never thought about what his clothes were made of; his clothes had always been hand-me-downs from Dudley or simple Hogwarts robes.  
  
"What materials?" he asked a bit confused.  
  
"Well, yes. What materials would you like me to use? I could use simple wool, merino wool, cashmere, angora, mohair, linen, raw silk, silk charmeuse, watered silk, fuji silk, lace, cotton, velvet, satin, organza, crepe de chine, corduroy, fur, leather, tweed, shimmer cloth."  
  
"I think it best to let you decide that, Gregory," Dumbledore interrupted, "although you should take into account that Harry is not one of your regular customers, but rather a bit younger."  
  
Harry's face clearly showed his relief. Of the materials the little tailor had listed, most were a big unknown to him. "But no lace," he added at the last moment, remembering Ron's dress robes.  
  
"It will be my pleasure," Mr. Fillamment said, the congenial smile returning to his face.  
  
"There is one thing though; Mr. Potter will need Ceremonial Robes for tonight. Do you think you can get them done in time?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"That shouldn't be a problem. Normally when I take an order, I complete it and then send it off, but under the circumstances, and seeing as to the size of the order, I think I can just send off what I have finished," the little wizard said. With a wave of his wand he closed the suitcases and the house-elves started to levitate them out.  
  
"I'll get to work on the Ceremonial Robes right away, and then on the rest. Mr. Potter, it's been a pleasure meeting you."  
  
The little wizard shook Harry's hand. "You will be most pleased with your clothes, that I can promise you. If you ever change your mind about the colours you only have to owl me."  
  
******  
  
Harry sat on top of the south tower overlooking the lake which sparkled in the afternoon sun. Hogwarts was peaceful without its students and the only thing Harry could hear was the wind, a gentle breeze that swept around the tower. From this height the Giant Squid seemed tiny and, if he looked a little to the left, he could see Hagrid's hut, small like a toy.  
  
After he and Dumbledore had gone over the ceremony that was due to take place that evening, they had eaten a quick midday meal brought to them by a beaming Dobby.  
  
Dumbledore had given him a small, old book about the apprentice ceremony and the traditions and customs that were a part of it. He had then dismissed Harry and told him to seek out some peace and quiet, read the book, and then reflect on what was going to happen and what the implications were, as was traditional.  
  
After reading the book, feeling better prepared with knowledge of what was to come, Harry had positioned himself cross-legged on top of one of the battlements and had tried to clear his mind of all the questions that kept flying through it.  
  
Dumbledore's apprentice. Voldemort. Proctor. Magic. Wards. Cedric. Kill the spare.  
  
Instead of the peace and quiet he had sought, Harry was confronted with his own internal turmoil. Turmoil he had been reasonably successful in ignoring so far, but now, at this time of forced contemplation, he had nothing to distract him, nothing to hide behind, no where to run.  
  
He closed his eyes.  
  
In his mind's eye a scene in the English countryside surfaced. Strange that, in his memory he could see every little detail, while in reality he had been so distraught that he had barely seen a thing. In his mind he saw the idyllic lane; he saw the moss covered stone wall that ran along the path, the meadow behind it, the grazing cows in the distance. He heard birds twitter in the trees next to the small path he walked and he could almost smell the grass. He could even hear a distant church bell sound.  
  
Then the scene shifted. The meadow was burned to a crisp, the trees blown away and the wall destroyed. The birds and cows had fled before the violence he had unleashed.  
  
He remembered Diagon Alley. He remembered the store. He remembered with clarity how close he had come to killing everyone dear to him only yesterday, the few seconds that had stood between life and death. The Weasleys. Ron and Hermione. Hermione.  
  
She had been his steadfast support through all of this, more than anyone else, and he had almost killed her. He had vague memories of her sitting on his bed while he had been separated from his body, locked away within the walls of his own mind, unaware of his identity. Through a haze that clouded his mind he remembered her soothing him, stroking his hair and his forehead. And he remembered himself calming down at her touch.  
  
He remembered how she had listened to him talking about his nightmares; listening to problems that were no one's but his own. Listening to what he had done in his dreams and in reality. and still being there, still being his friend, giving a simple answer in just holding him.  
  
Through the tranquillity he found in thoughts of his friend, Harry felt himself spiral down into the quiet centre of his being. Slowly his mind was surrounded with the warm, bright light that was the magic in his core. Here he felt safe, like a baby in the womb. He felt himself float on that stream of nothingness for what seemed like somewhere between an eternity and but a moment.  
  
His peace was suddenly disturbed by a tugging sensation.  
  
"It is time, Mr. Harry Potter Sir," came the quiet voice of Dobby.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and saw that it was dark, the sun long set, the stars twinkling in the clear night sky.  
  
His shoulders, back and legs ached; he had been sitting in the same position for hours, oblivious to the world around him. He felt that he had found a little peace.enough for now anyway.  
  
"Yes, Dobby, it is time." 


	16. Chapter XV

Chapter XV  
  
Harry had changed into the robes laid out for him by Dobby in a small room near the Great Hall. They were white -something he resented, especially after his outburst earlier that day- and had two coats of arms on the chest.  
  
On the right was the Hogwarts crest, an H surrounded by an Eagle, a Badger, a Snake and a Lion, beneath it stood in an ornate script 'Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus'.  
  
On the left was another impressive device, a golden dragon motif, spewing a blaze of fire, in white and red colours. This one had a black border in the form of a kite shield. Underneath the dragon the words 'Cedo nulli' were printed. Harry had no idea what the second coat of arms was for, what the words stood for, or even why either of the crests was imprinted on his chest.  
  
With Dobby as his escort, Harry made his way to the Great Hall. When they arrived at the entrance he gave his wand to the house-elf for safekeeping; it would only interfere with the ritual magic in which he was about to take part. This ceremony would only involve weaved magic, an old and almost forgotten form of casting, done with the mind and hands. It wasn't very quick or powerful, but it was subtle. or so Dumbledore had said.  
  
As Harry entered through the main doors he saw that the house tables had been removed. The banners that had been black at the end of last year had been replaced by a myriad of hangings, both Dragon and Hogwarts standards decorated the scarcely lit room.  
  
The only lights that were present were four candles, one at each corner of the Great Hall and a pattern of candles in the middle of the room. The stars that shone above seemed ineffectual and there was no moon that night.  
  
"Who comes?" the voice of Albus Dumbledore sounded through the room as clear as crystal.  
  
The ceremony had begun and Harry had no choice now but to follow the rules. He could feel the magic that had sprung up with the first question, could feel a slow crescendo starting. The candles seemed to burn brighter and shadows started to move on the walls, behind him the great doors closed.  
  
"Harry Potter, son of James and Lily," Harry called to the five figures that stood behind the pattern, Dumbledore to the fore.  
  
"Why have you come?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"I come to learn knowledge," Harry answered.  
  
"Why have you come?"  
  
"I come to learn control."  
  
"Why have you come?"  
  
"I come to master myself."  
  
"Step forward."  
  
With reverence Harry walked forward until he stood at the edge of the pattern, opposite the five figures who were all cloaked in shadows except Dumbledore. Up close Harry could see that the pattern consisted of three ellipses; two crossing each other at a right angle, each ending pointing towards a corner of the Great Hall, which in turn corresponded with one of the corners of the earth, the third was laid on top of these pointing from the main doors towards the back of the hall.  
  
"Why would you take this step?" Albus Dumbledore asked. He wore a black robe in the same style as Harry's with the Hogwarts crest on his right breast.  
  
This was not only a ceremonial question, Harry had read, but was something to be answered truthfully, to further ignite the magic.  
  
"To learn. and to . protect myself and others."  
  
"This is a worthy reason," Dumbledore answered in a ritual phrase, but pride was clear underneath.  
  
"Who stands for this boy? Who will bear witness for him?" the headmaster intoned, magic dancing in his eyes.  
  
The first figure on his right took a step forward. It was Sirius, dressed in the same ceremonial black robes; on his right chest was a crest featuring what looked like a chess castle, the crest on his left was a running dog, a large black dog.  
  
"I stand for this boy and will bear witness."  
  
"Who stands and bears witness?" Dumbledore continued.  
  
"Sirius Black, first son of the house of Black, Godfather to this boy."  
  
"Take your place at the Pattern, witness."  
  
As Sirius took his place on one of the point of the Pattern, Dumbledore turned to his left.  
  
"Minerva McGonagall, will you bear witness for me so that the balance is made?"  
  
McGonagall turned an intense stare to Harry, giving him the feeling that she was trying to penetrate the depths of his mind, to see if he was worthy.  
  
"I will be honoured to stand witness."  
  
"Take your place at the Pattern, witness."  
  
Dressed in a female version of the black ceremonial robes with a Hogwarts Crest, McGonagall took her place opposite Sirius.  
  
"Is there a person present here who will stand for the Wizards' Council, so that it may be informed?"  
  
"I will stand for the Wizards' Council," said Mundungus Fletcher as he stepped from the shadows. On his right chest was the image of a bundle of arrows. Without prompting he took his place at the Pattern.  
  
"Is there a person present here who will stand for the Ministry, so that all may be registered in accordance with the law?"  
  
"I will stand for the Ministry," said the last figure in the shadows. To Harry's surprise it was Arthur Weasley. He almost spoke, but was stopped by the memory of the strict rules of ceremony that prohibited him from saying anything that was not part of the ceremony.  
  
Arthur wore old and tattered black robes that seemed to be a slightly different style than that of the others. They also seemed a bit too small for him. On his chest were two coats of arms. On his left breast was a wand crossed with a book, a symbol that Harry had seen before in connection with the Ministry of Magic; the book was supposed to represent the law, and the wand the means of enforcing the law. On his right breast was what looked like a bundle of twigs, bending, but not breaking. He took his place opposite Fletcher.  
  
"Harry Potter, take your place at the Pattern."  
  
Almost simultaneously Dumbledore and Harry took their places at the Pattern, opposite each other, bottom and top.  
  
To Harry's right stood Sirius and to his left, Arthur.  
  
"Today has come a boy asking to learn. Today has come a master offering to teach," Dumbledore intoned. He turned his gaze to Harry. "If you still desire to learn, knowing full well the consequences of the commitment you are about to make step forward into the Pattern."  
  
For a moment Harry hesitated. He now had a better understanding of what the bond between apprentice and master entailed. To some extent he would have to do what Dumbledore told him to do, and a significant bond would be created between the both of them. On some level they would always be aware of each other and they would be more vulnerable to each other, Harry more so than Dumbledore. It was not a question of not trusting Dumbledore, but opening himself up to someone else, making himself vulnerable was against his deepest nature.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Harry calmed his mind; it was too late for second thoughts. Sometimes you had to do what was necessary and pay the price.  
  
He stepped forward.  
  
As did Dumbledore.  
  
Harry couldn't imagine anyone ever mistaking this man for what he was: a truly powerful wizard. The magic of the ceremony was still there and it had now reached new heights, it could be seen dancing and flickering in those blue eyes, eyes that looked so very different without their usual twinkle.  
  
"Sit down, Harry."  
  
There was a six-sided figure created by the ellipses at the centre of the pattern. Both Harry and Dumbledore sat down in it, with their legs crossed, their knees touching. In accordance with ancient ritual, both extended their hands towards each other, palms turned upward at a square angle with their arms.  
  
Magic surged.  
  
*****  
  
He had seen a lot of impressive magic in his life, had known a lot of powerful wizards and witches: Dumbledore, James and Lily, he had even felt Voldemort on one occasion, and he was no slouch himself, but as his name was Sirius Black: nothing like this.  
  
Not that there was a lot of visual evidence of any magic. It was more a sensing of the potential behind the link the two in front of him were creating. A force to move mountains. and perhaps alter the course of history.  
  
He had felt its beginnings when Harry had stepped into the Great Hall, dressed in his ceremonial white robes. He had been a bit shocked by seeing the ancient symbol on Harry's chest.  
  
Of course Harry would wear the Hogwarts crest; it symbolized his link to Dumbledore who had taken the symbol for his own when becoming headmaster of Hogwarts, forsaking all ties to his own house.  
  
But the Dragon device was what shocked him. He hadn't seen it since the death of James' father, more than twenty years ago. James had never worn it, refusing to acknowledge anything that had to do with his father or family. It was Harry's birthright to wear that ancient symbol, but did he even know what it meant?  
  
What was Dumbledore doing?  
  
When Harry had stood before the pattern and had given his reasons he had once again felt the magic surge, building to a new level. His answer had been true. to learn and protect. He was so very proud of his Godson; he was so much like James and Lily, so very much a Potter.  
  
His part of the ceremony was simple, he just had to stand at the pattern and weave only the tiniest bit of his magic into the whole. He was more than happy to do so; even considering the reasons behind this joining was less than ideal.  
  
Then Harry and Dumbledore sat and touched hands.  
  
He almost cried out.  
  
So much magic.  
  
He could see that even McGonagall, Arthur Weasley and Magistrate Fletcher felt it, and they weren't even Sensitives; he was. A glow surrounded the hands of the two wizards that sat in the pattern. He could feel their distinctive magics merge and flow back and forth.  
  
Back and forth the magic went at a relentless pace, not stopping or even diminishing, but growing. He was starting to worry.  
  
The candles that were lit started to glow brighter and brighter, and the lines on the floor that were drawn by Dumbledore himself according to very old conventions started to give off a very daunting blue light; the walls of Hogwarts seemed to tremble with a distant thunder.  
  
He could see that none of the others had expected this; it was clear in their eyes. Had the ceremony gone wrong somehow, or was this something they just hadn't known because nothing quite like this had been done for almost ten centuries?  
  
Should they stop it? Could they stop it?  
  
He tried to pull at his end of the weave a bit, but it was like trying to move a mountain. All he could do was hang on and wait out the ride.  
  
And then Harry and Dumbledore started to rise into the air.  
  
*****  
  
Harry could feel Dumbledore's magic as it merged with his own, behind his closed eyes he could see the golden light that was so very different but shone brightly next to his own white.  
  
For the first time he saw magic as something to which innate qualities could be ascribed. Dumbledore's felt warm and benign, something that enveloped you like a blanket and would keep you warm; but also powerful, like a strong fortress that could defend you against anything.  
  
Then there was his. Maybe it was impossible to analyze your own magic; but then again, he could see his magic as a light in the core of his being. He saw his magic as white and Dumbledore's as gold. but why were the feelings he so easily assigned to the Headmaster's magic so hard to find for his own?  
  
It wasn't that he couldn't feel or sense anything, quite the opposite actually. He felt warmth and cold, benevolence and malice, life and death, caring and indifference, peace and war, healing and killing and a thousand other terms that came to mind, all opposites.  
  
The magic that he and Dumbledore had created was still centred between them; in the physical world he felt it where their hands came together. Then he felt the magic beginning to move, for lack of a better term. It started rolling back and forth between himself and Dumbledore. Every time it passed through him he felt a surge of exhilaration, and when it left him he could not help but long for its return.  
  
With every wave he became more and more aware of the man that sat in front of him; there were even moments when he seemed to remember things he had never done or experienced in his life.  
  
He remembered a childhood with a mother and father. and even a brother.  
  
He remembered graduating from Hogwart's as Head Boy. His parents had been so proud.  
  
He remembered a wedding to a beautiful woman. Her smile was the only thing that mattered to him and he hardly heard the words spoken. Her smile..  
  
He remembered teaching at Hogwarts with his wife. He was happy, she was happy, she smiled that smile.  
  
He remembered that smile. but something was wrong. The eyes were dead and the smile was frozen. He felt himself scream, scream in sorrow, scream for vengeance. He saw blood on his hands.  
  
He remembered leaving Hogwarts. He lived for the battle now, for vengeance.  
  
He remembered standing in front of a dark wizard, screaming. "It ends now!"  
  
He remembered receiving a reward. but it didn't matter, nothing mattered without her, without that smile.  
  
He remembered teaching again. This was his purpose in life now, a reason to go on living. The students were his family now.  
  
He remembered.....  
  
So many memories. one as fleeting as the next, never staying, but leaving an impression, creating a link.  
  
He felt the magic grow with every turn around, felt it grow in intensity and in size until instead of rolling back and forth it enveloped them both.  
  
The world around them seemed to fall away and he could not even feel the floor beneath him. There was only magic and memories that flowed like water.  
  
Suddenly a young man with auburn hair appeared in his mind's eye, and then he stood beside the man. He looked somehow familiar; he had bright, blue eyes and his face was dominated by a long, straight nose.  
  
"Hello, Harry," the man said.  
  
"Professor, is that you?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes, Harry. This is how I still see myself, much as I was at twenty years old," Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"Where are we?"  
  
"Nowhere. This is a place that we have created together; it is a place of the mind."  
  
"Why are we here? I didn't know this would happen," Harry said in surprise.  
  
"We are here because I wanted us to be here. The link has been established, so I was able to guide you here."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Because I wanted to show you something. When our magics merged I made some discoveries."  
  
Dumbledore waved his hand and far above them a large white light, shining like a sun appeared. It was surrounded by a golden haze that seemed to contain it like riverbanks contain a river, but from time to time magic spilled over like a flare from a sun.  
  
"Harry, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but we were not as successful as I had hoped."  
  
Harry felt his spirits fall. Not successful, he would be sent away after all.  
  
"No, there is no reason to fear that, Harry, don't worry. But you will have to work harder to control your magic, and some things may be difficult or even impossible yet, I don't know. What I do know is that you don't have to fear hurting others; that I can prevent," Dumbledore said in a soothing voice, "but things will happen, and you need to be prepared for that."  
  
Harry only nodded, hoping the Headmaster was right.  
  
"It's time to go back now," Dumbledore spoke as he waved his hand again.  
  
A few moments later, Harry became aware of the world again and he felt the link with Dumbledore. It wasn't as if he had become one with the headmaster, but he was definitely aware of his presence and he felt as if he had a better understanding of the man, a sense of history and direction.  
  
"It is done, the link has been formed," Dumbledore announced.  
  
"I bear witness," all four observers intoned. Harry thought he could hear astonishment in their voices, but it was hard to tell because of the formality of the words.  
  
Both he and Dumbledore stood and he felt himself being embraced by Sirius.  
  
"Congratulations, Harry. I'm proud of you," he said.  
  
"Thanks, Sirius," Harry replied, still a bit dazed by the magic he had just undergone.  
  
Sirius was soon replaced by McGonagall, who gave him a small but proud smile as she congratulated him.  
  
"I expect you to keep yourself to a higher standard now, Mr. Potter. Not only will you be a Proctor, the embodiment of the highest ideals of Hogwarts, but as Professor Dumbledore's apprentice your actions will directly reflect upon the Headmaster," she said in her familiar stern voice, despite the smile.  
  
Next was Arthur Weasley, who also looked proud. "Congratulations, Harry. I know my family will be most proud when they hear. Now for the formal part: I, Arthur Weasley, duly designated witness of the Ministry of Magic, hereby declare Harry Potter the apprentice of Albus Dumbledore. According to the old laws, never having been revoked, you are hereby given the status, rights, privileges and duties of a wizard as defined by the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy, but with the limitations as applies from the Code of Apprenticeship."  
  
"Uhmm, I'm sorry but what does that mean?" Harry asked, surprised.  
  
Arthur had a grin from ear to ear. "It means that as far as the law is concerned, you are now of age. Congratulations, Harry." Arthur handed Harry an official looking document that stated almost exactly what he had said.  
  
Mundungus Fletcher stepped forward to replace Arthur.  
  
"Congratulations are in order, Mr. Potter. You have just done something that hasn't been done in, ohh, I think around ten centuries," Magistrate Fletcher said, an amused tone in his voice.  
  
Then he cleared his throat and continued in a formal tone. I also have a formal part to fulfil: I, Mundungus Fletcher, Magistrate of the law and full member of the Wizards' Council, hereby witness your apprenticeship to Albus Dumbledore. I also witness your coming of age, by this very act. As member of the Greater Council, I call upon Harold James Potter, first of that name, son of James Potter, third of that name, heir apparent to House Potter and its seat on the higher council, to appear before the full body of the Wizard's Council so that you may claim your place as the next Lord and High Seat of House Potter. You will be summoned, come without delay."  
  
Sirius' face had turned ashen and his features were contorted in fear. "Albus, NO, I FORBID IT."  
  
A/N Cedo Nulli means 'I Yield To No Man' loosely translated.  
  
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	17. Chapter XVI

Chapter XVI  
  
Dumbledore, Sirius and Harry had adjourned to the Headmaster's sitting room. While Harry sat in a comfortable chair he watched Sirius in amazement.  
  
His Godfather was pacing up and down the room, a non-stop tirade against Dumbledore coming from his mouth the likes of which Harry had never heard, but never once saying why he was angry.  
  
"You had no right, Albus. I'm the boy's Godfather, I should have been informed. He's too young, and you know it. How could you do this? You know the dangers. This is what got James."  
  
"SIRIUS," the headmaster called him to order. "Sit down and calm yourself. You are confusing Harry."  
  
Harry felt his irritation and anger mount as the feeling that a lot of things were happening behind his back grew. "Yes, an explanation would be welcome right about now, I think I deserve it after more than four years of being told nothing," he said in a voice that contained more vexation than was normal for him; it lent his voice a sarcastic quality.  
  
"And justly so," Dumbledore answered with a sigh. "Sirius, would you please sit down. Raving like that will not make any difference."  
  
Reluctantly Sirius sat down, pouring himself a large drink from the crystal carafe on the table in front of him. Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought Sirius was actually moping.  
  
"I would like to know what Magistrate Fletcher meant," Harry said, his voice still scathing. "I have a feeling I've been kept in the dark long enough."  
  
"Yes, quite right," Dumbledore said; his voice had slightly guilty undertones.  
  
"It is time to tell you why Voldemort killed your father and tried to kill you. I had hoped that you would be older when I told you this, but events have forced my hand."  
  
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, seemingly staring into nothingness. Sirius, on the other hand, seemed like he could hardly contain himself, but if it was to hurry Dumbledore along or stop him altogether, Harry could not tell.  
  
"I know you're a bit young for this," Dumbledore finally began," but have you ever wondered how the Wizarding world is ruled?"  
  
Harry felt confused. What did this have to do with anything?  
  
"I assume the people choose a Minister of Magic and he rules..?" Harry answered, not sure of the answer.  
  
"Well, yes. and no," Dumbledore answered. "As you know from History of Magic, it was once the Wizards' Council that ruled. At a certain point in time this changed for various reasons; the most important was that there were too many members for it to be an effective ruling body. By a majority decision the Ministry of Magic was created. You could consider it a hired management system."  
  
"Or you could call it the curse of paperwork and incompetence," Sirius interrupted, clearly not impressed by the Ministry.  
  
Dumbledore just seemed to ignore him and continued: "The controlling body, however, is still the Wizards' council, although later with the partial introduction of the Trias Politica a semi-separate court system was created and it gained even more members. The difference between the Wizards' council and the Ministry of Magic is simple. The Ministry governs, the Council rules."  
  
The Wizards' council? Hadn't Magistrate Fletcher called upon him to appear before it? Was he in trouble again? What did this all have to do with him? And why had he been called 'heir apparent of House Potter'? House Potter?  
  
Harry felt his confusion grow instead of diminish, together with a headache. Dumbledore didn't seem to make sense, didn't seem to have a point. He decided to throw in a random question, just to see where it would go.  
  
"And every wizard and witch is a member of the Wizards' Council?" he asked.  
  
"No, the wizarding world doesn't use a 'one man-one vote' system. Ours is a much older way. Besides, it would never work. Because of magic, people have too much individual power."  
  
"And democracy is three wolves and a sheep deciding what's for dinner anyway," Sirius barked with laughter.  
  
"No," Dumbledore continued, ignoring Sirius," the Wizard's Council is a family system. Every family has influence in the Council, based upon a number of factors. It is a balance that is forever changing, and to an outsider it probably looks like absolute chaos. But balance is very important to magic, and so you find it in our political system as well. and balance is never static."  
  
Harry felt his headache growing. There was so much information to process and new concepts to understand. And he still didn't see how this had anything to do with him or Voldemort.  
  
"The Council is balanced in more ways than one. As I said, influence is based upon several factors. All of them are forms of power. Factors are political, economical, magical and even simply the extensiveness of the family. These things constantly seek a new balance."  
  
"What you mean, Albus," Sirius said after taking a big swig of his drink, "is that each house is looking for any gain they can get. They'll plot, steal, blackmail or even kill you if they think they can get away with it and who ever wins gets to balance.'"  
  
Dumbledore gave Sirius a glaring look and the dark haired wizard suddenly became very pale and very silent.  
  
"Quite," Dumbledore stated dryly. "The council is also divided and balanced into a Greater and Higher Council. The Greater Council is the whole of families, the voting body. The Higher Council is made up out of a small number of permanent member houses, nobility if you will, who have a great deal of influence and power.  
  
It is they who shape policy and direction for the entire wizarding world here in England. They are ancient and proud Houses and yours is amongst them, Harry. House Potter has a seat on the Higher Council and is amongst the oldest and most influential.  
  
That is why Voldemort wanted to kill your Father and you; that is why he killed your Grandfather. He wanted to wipe out House Potter and its opposition to him, and in doing so he made you the last Potter and subsequently the Lord of House Potter at your coming of age.  
  
Harry's mouth fell open, "Voldemort killed my Grandfather? Who was he? What was his name?" he spoke in a voice that contained both astonishment and venom.  
  
"Your Grandfather was Lord Stewart Potter; he was killed when your father was in his fifth year by Voldemort himself after a wizard's duel. I knew him well, although we were not what you would consider friends, more like political allies. He was a proud and powerful man and I was privileged to have known him," Dumbledore said in a solemn voice.  
  
"He was also a hard and sometimes cruel man who was stubborn and even full of it," Sirius barked, his voice a bit slurred as he downed a second glass, or was it his third?  
  
"Sirius, you were a boy when Harry's grandfather died, I don't think it's your place to judge."  
  
"I saw what he did to James; I know what he said about Lily and Remus. The man was no saint."  
  
"Alas, none of us are, but can we truly judge a man whose position we cannot understand? Maybe it would be better to concentrate on the present," Dumbledore sighed.  
  
Harry had been observing the conversation between the two men, trying to filter out the truth. "What does it mean for me? I mean, if I am to be this Lord, what is expected of me? Do I have choice?"  
  
"We always have a choice, Mr. Potter, but you are not one to shirk your responsibilities, I know that much.  
  
As I said, the Wizards' Council rules, but that has been impossible for more than twenty years. When your Grandfather died, your father was not yet of age and could not yet become the High Seat of House Potter. That meant that the Higher Council was not complete and could not take any actions or approve laws; this has happened before, and it was deemed that the time to wait for James' initiation was acceptable so no regent was installed. Then, when your father had gone through his initiation, Voldemort began a relentless hunt and he had no choice but to take you and your mother into hiding," Dumbledore told.  
  
"And then he died." Sirius said, a tear dripping from his eye. He quickly hid the emotion by emptying another glass.  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore concurred in an equally sad tone, "he died, and you were only a baby. Fortunately, Voldemort had disappeared, although it took some time before it became clear that you were responsible for that. Once again there was no High Seat for House Potter but no-one dared to remove it from power; your defeat of Voldemort had lifted the prestige and therefore power of your House to unknown levels, the instability that would have followed any acts against you was unacceptable. Since you had no living wizarding relatives and your Godfather was in Azkaban, no politically acceptable regent could be appointed for you; this was unprecedented. The Higher Council was powerless. Into that power vacuum stepped the Ministry. It broadened its influence unchecked and there was nothing to balance it. Laws were replaced by Ministry Decrees."  
  
"You mean."  
  
"I know quite well what I mean, Sirius. I think it better that I tell this," Dumbledore interrupted in a low voice.  
  
"The Ministry has proven its incompetence and bureaucracy; Fudge being elected Minister by the heads of the departments and his consequent attitude are telling of the background in which it operates. Those who take no risks and choose no sides are promoted. To be outspoken is to be cut down. Corruption is rampant. The Ministry is unable to take a stand against Voldemort. The only thing that can is the Council. and the Council cannot function without you, Harry.  
  
*****  
  
Harry was in a room that had been prepared for him. It was his for the night, as Gryffindor Tower was not available yet and neither was the Proctor wing, although Harry apparently wouldn't have had access anyway.  
  
His mind was overflowing with concepts and questions. He had often had the feeling that a burden rested on his shoulders; he was The-Boy-Who-Lived and many had made it clear by action or implication that he was their champion. Now he knew that burden was real, and heavier than he had ever imagined.  
  
Who was he to take a seat in the ruling body of the English wizarding society? He was just a boy; no matter what anyone said or thought.  
  
He wished he had a drink, he could sure use one.  
  
A knock pulled him out of his thoughts. As he walked towards the door -a conventional one as this was a guestroom- he wondered who it would be at this hour.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Sirius said in a slurred voice after Harry had opened the door. He was holding a bottle in his hand and was slightly unstable on his feet.  
  
"I thought you might want to have a drink with your Godfather to celebrate the successful conclusion of Dumbledore's mechanizations. I swear the man must have been a Slytherin."  
  
Sirius walked into the room, not waiting for Harry's answer, and plopped down on the bed heavily. He had apparently thought to bring two glasses with him and he was filling both of them with what was certainly more than a double measure.  
  
"You're a bit young. oh hell, who am I trying to kid. I was a lot younger than you when I was drunk for the first time, besides you're officially of age now. Not that anyone considered consulting me on that little matter, but who am I? Just your Godfather." The last part of his sentence was mumbled.  
  
Harry had taken a chair and was sitting opposite of Sirius, not really knowing what to do with the unusual behaviour of his Godfather.  
  
"Come on, Harry, take a glass," Sirius said.  
  
Harry had been wishing for a drink, so he figured this was the universe's way of compensating him a bit. He took the glass and smelt it. It was whiskey, although not Ogden's.  
  
"What shall we drink to?" Sirius called out. "Oh, wait, I know. We shall drink to the glory of House Potter. Do you know what the old toast was, Harry? It went like this: To the House of the Dragon, Cedo Nulli. You're only supposed to say the last part though, being the Dragon Lord himself and all."  
  
Harry was confused by Sirius' rambling and after taking a firm swig asked: "What do you mean House of the Dragon and Dragon Lord?"  
  
"Crickey, Harry! Didn't you see the symbol on your chest? It's your House's Coat of Arms. It's a dragon. That symbol is more than a thousand years old. Legend has it that the first of your line even tamed a dragon once and that's why he chose it. Potters have always been known as the Dragons. except your father, of course. He wanted nothing to do with your Grandfather and rejected that name."  
  
Dragon Lord? That would give that damned Draco a good laugh. But what was this about his father and grandfather?  
  
"What was going on between my father and grandfather?" he asked, to keep Sirius talking.  
  
"Well, Lord Stewart, that's your Grandfather by the way, raised your father as all firstborn male Potters have been, to be the next Lord Potter. But when your father and I went to Hogwarts we met Remus and your mother. Your Grandfather did not approve of either. Remus was a werewolf, and somehow he knew - must have found it in the ministry records or something."  
  
"And my mother?" Harry asked breathlessly.  
  
"I think Lord Stewart saw the affection between the two at the very beginning even though they didn't seem able to stand each other at first. Lily was a Muggleborn and Potters always married for power. To have a relationship or even a marriage with a Muggleborn was certainly not in his plans for James. He did everything to drive them apart.. as I said, he could be a cruel man."  
  
"And then.?"  
  
Sirius seemed to sober up just a bit, his voice took on a distant quality.  
  
"Voldemort happened. Your Grandfather was a strong proponent of a declaration of war on him. One day he received an official challenge to a wizard's duel by Voldemort. He was a Nobleman, not to mention a Potter; there was no way his honour would let him refuse. He went, with my father as his second. The official story is that he lost and my father attacked Voldemort in a rage and was killed as well. Your father and I always thought he was ambushed. Your Grandfather was a lot of things, but he was an excellent dueller."  
  
Sirius seemed to be reliving his own memories, his eyes staring blankly. Harry's father had not been the only one with a loss in his family that day.  
  
Harry was wondering what kind of man his Grandfather had really been. He had heard a lot of words associated with a man that he had no concept of until today: cruel, hard, honourable, ruler, friend, father. Who was the man behind the words?  
  
His gaze shifted to Sirius. His godfather was snoring softly, the alcohol and events of the evening exhausting him.  
  
Harry reached for his wand to seal the door, but remembered the trouble magic might give him. Instead he pushed a cabinet in front of door, making sure no one could barge in and discover the escaped convict. He filled his now empty glass again and sat on his bed, thinking for hours.  
  
*****  
  
It was sunrise, and as Harry sat on the battlement of the south tower once again, he could observe the dawn in all its glory.  
  
Sirius had woken him early, stating that he should have left the castle last night; he was, after all, still on the run.  
  
After a quick goodbye, Harry found himself unable to go back to sleep. Professor Dumbledore had invited him to an early breakfast, but not this early. He instead roamed the silent castle, ending up at the place he had found some peace yesterday.  
  
As he saw the first rays of the sun hit the lake, a saying came to mind: Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Well, his life was certainly different than it was yesterday.  
  
*****  
  
Dumbledore had asked Harry to receive all the Proctor candidates and direct them to the Great Hall. Several House-Elves were assisting him, carrying up the luggage of the arriving students.  
  
Most of the students were pleased to see him and made some kind of remark about how proud or excited they were to be selected for the Protectorate Council. One Hufflepuff even went as far as to tell him about Proctors who had become quite well known. This wasn't really a problem as their individual Portkeys had been set five minutes apart.  
  
The reunion with Katie Bell was especially humorous, as the 6th year Gryffindor described what she would be doing with Fred and George with her new Proctor authority.  
  
The second to last arrival was a Slytherin girl and the only other 5th year chosen. Although Harry had seen Blaise Zabini around, he could not recall anything specific about the girl except that she was quiet and went her own way, almost seeming to actively avoid any attention, blending into the shadows.  
  
That image was shattered upon her arrival.  
  
Unlike the other candidates, she was not wearing her school robes, but Muggle clothing. She wore very tight black leggings and a white blouse that was partly unbuttoned to show a great deal of cleavage. The girl had very blue eyes that seemed to analyse everything they met, and hair that seemed to shine in the sun although it was black as night.  
  
Harry was a bit surprised by the discrepancy between his memory and reality, pleasantly surprised.  
  
"Potter," she said with an acid voice, "please tell me you're not the other 5th year candidate?"  
  
Harry was shaken from his musings about the attractive legs the girl was sporting by the offending tone.  
  
"Guess you'll have to learn to live with it then, because I am. You are expected in the Great Hall, a House-Elf will take up your luggage," he returned in a neutral voice, deciding to keep the peace. for now.  
  
"I can't believe you are letting them use you for menial labour like this Potter; it is servants' work, it's below your station," she said in a biting tone.  
  
Without another word the black-haired Slytherin walked passed Harry, leaving her trunk where she had arrived. Harry vaguely waved for a waiting House-elf to take it away.  
  
Staring after the girl, finding he enjoyed watching her walk, Harry was slow to react when he hear the pop signalling the appearance of the last arrival. When he turned after a few seconds he found himself looking into two very beautiful eyes with a definite Asian ethnicity. As his mind started to work again he saw that those eyes had lost the spark he had so enjoyed seeing in them, instead they looked sad and tired.  
  
"Cho," he barely breathed.  
  
A/N  
  
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	18. Chapter XVII

Chapter XVII  
  
"Harry," the raven haired witch stated, not a single drop of inflection in her emotionless voice.  
  
For a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, Harry as if he was seeing a mystical creature, Cho with dull eyes.  
  
For the time of a heartbeat Harry thought he saw something light up in Cho's eyes; an emotion, a reaction, a sensation. anything.  
  
But before he could be certain it was there, it was gone.  
  
With a blank face, Cho walked towards the castle, passing Harry without as much as a glance.  
  
In a weak voice Harry called after her: "You're expected in the Great Hall."  
  
Feeling profoundly confused and sad, he turned around to the spot she had arrived at only a moment ago, staring at it. Her trunk was still there and an anonymous house-elf was standing next to it. With a wave of his hand Harry gave her permission to take the luggage up to the castle, before turning again and looking at Cho's retreating back.  
  
Slowly, he started to make his own way up to the entrance of the castle.  
  
*****  
  
The assembled candidates were chatting amongst themselves, mostly grouped by house, happy to see each other again.  
  
As Harry took his place among the Gryffindors, Dumbledore entered flanked by McGonagall. The Headmaster was resplendent in one of Gregory's creations, the likes of which only he could get away with; McGonagall was wearing simple robes in the earth tones she seemed to favour.  
  
"Welcome all to Hogwarts," he began, gracing his students with a benign smile. "I am so very pleased to see that you accepted our invitation to the Protectorate Council.  
  
You all know of the dangers I spoke of at the end of term feast; this is one of many initiatives to make our school a safer place."  
  
Almost subconsciously, Harry threw a quick glance at the Slytherins who were present. He was not the only one, as he saw the other Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and even trusting Hufflepuffs cast glances in the same general direction. Distrust ran deep.  
  
"Only in standing united, as one school, can we hope to survive the coming storm intact. It is you who will lead your separate houses, as you represent the finest that Hogwarts has to offer in its struggle against the Dark Arts. For that reason alone, it is vital you pull together, if not for yourselves, then for the ones you will be protecting."  
  
Echoing through the empty halls and corridors of the castle, Harry heard a steady clunk. As it came nearer he found it harder and harder to concentrate on Dumbledore's speech. The headmaster spoke of things he long knew, of responsibility, of protecting others and of sacrifice; he knew sacrifice.  
  
The sound came nearer and nearer, until it was just outside the side door of the Great Hall.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, I wish to remind you that, although a position on the Protectorate Council is an honourable one, it is also voluntary. Remember that during your training you may ask to leave at any time," Dumbledore said emphatically; then he continued in a lighter tone: "That, of course, will exclude you from the Council."  
  
The words seemed to have a sobering effect on the students. Most of them had boisterous attitudes upon arrival, speculating that Proctor training could not be that different from the Prefect introduction day combined with a duelling club.  
  
"Without further ado, I wish to introduce you to your principal instructor for the coming weeks. Although there will be various Professors and consultants assisting him, he will be overseeing your activities. He graciously consented to being here, despite certain promises of mine to the contrary last year. Please give a warm welcome Auror Moody."  
  
With those last words the clunking resumed and Alastor Moody walked in. The noise had been from his peg leg.  
  
As he stepped in front of Dumbledore, his magical eye roved over the faces of all the candidates.  
  
Harry had been daunted by the looks that the fake Moody was capable of, it was nothing compared to the piercing glares the real one was throwing around now. The very expression on the face of the former Auror seemed to say that he knew your innermost fears and secrets.  
  
"Ladies and Gentleman," he said in a low, lethal voice, "welcome to Hell."  
  
*****  
  
"WELL? What are you waiting for? Get outside," Moody thundered at the stunned students.  
  
"Move, move, move," he barked while pointing at the doors of the Great Hall, "assemble on the steps to the main doors."  
  
Running amidst his fellow students Harry had but one thought: Oh shit!  
  
Arriving at the steps to the main doors he saw that Mad Eye was already there, how had he gotten here that fast?  
  
"Line up by year. Now, faster, faster."  
  
Moody paced up and down the line with a disgusted look on his face as the students slowly found their place.  
  
"That was pathetic, people; no, not people, children - babies even. Look to your right; that is the person you will be standing next to if I tell you to line up and you will line up quickly or I will have you begging to go home," he said in a harsh voice.  
  
While glaring at the candidates one by one, he continued walking up and down the line.  
  
"I have one week to start your training; a training that will not stop as long as you are a member of the Protectorate Council. Do you want to know what I think about that? I'll tell you what I think about that," he spat. "I think I am wasting my bloody time. There is no way I can cram what you need to know into those puny little brains of yours in one week, no way I can train those scrawny, weak bodies of yours."  
  
"Now don't get me wrong, I am a brilliant instructor, but if I am given sub- standard recruits I can not help but fail," he said in a honeysweet voice, "this is of course not your fault and I advise you to quit now instead of later, no hard feelings."  
  
"But sir, you can't." a 6th year Ravenclaw boy began.  
  
Moody stopped pacing right in front of the Ravenclaw and turned towards him, bringing his face bare inches away from the boy's.  
  
"You wanted to tell me you quit, Mister.?" Moody said in that low voice of his.  
  
"Roger Davies, I was in your Defence agai." he started in a congenial tone.  
  
"Mr. Davies, first of all, you will address me as sir or Instructor Moody. Second of all, forget last year, that was not me. Thirdly, do not speak unless spoken too, except if you want to quit. Do you wish to quit, Mr. Davies?"  
  
"No sir, but I must protest against." the boy began again in a heated voice.  
  
"Let me make this clear to you, Mr. Davies, TO ALL OF YOU; you are not here to protest, you are not here to be coddled; you are here to do as I say. The bottom line is simple: complete my course or go home." He turned both eyes on Davies and said: "Mr. Davies, do you know what push- ups are?"  
  
"Yes sir," the boy squealed.  
  
"Good, THEN DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!"  
  
As Davies dropped to the ground, his face as white as wax, Moody resumed his pacing.  
  
"As I promised Dumbledore I would teach you, I will. I never back out of a promise. I will get you lot into shape, even if it kills you  
  
In the coming week myself and others will start on your Proctor training. You will be taught protocol, etiquette, history, traditions and Hogwart's Rules and Regulations. Besides teaching you the rules, we will start you on your combat training, both with wand and without, armoured and un-armoured. As a matter of fact, that is where we will start. Does anyone know the best way to defend against a curse by a Dark Wizard?"  
  
Several hands were put up hesitantly.  
  
"You," Moody said while pointing at an overly large 7th year Hufflepuff, not looking at him except with the magical eye that seemed to be looking straight through his skull.  
  
"A shield?" the Hufflepuff said somewhat doubtfully.  
  
"Is that a question or an answer?" Moody bellowed. "Never mind, WRONG. Avada Kedavra will rip through any shield. Anyone care to try again?"  
  
Again several hands were raised, this time even more slowly.  
  
"You," Moody pointed to Katie Bell.  
  
"Constant vigilance," she said smugly.  
  
"That will help, but not against a curse that is already on its way. I guess we will have to ask the one person of you lot who has ever gone up against a Dark Wizard's curse; Mr. Potter, care to try?"  
  
Harry had dreaded this from the moment the question had been asked. The answers both the Hufflepuff and Katie had given had made sense, so Harry was already racking his brain for the answer. He tried to remember what he had done against Voldemort. The Priori Incantatem effect was not an option in every situation, so what?  
  
He had simply run. He hadn't been there.  
  
"Not be there, sir," he said in a quiet tone and he could immediately hear the snigger to his left; it was Blaise Zabini.  
  
"Not be there," Moody slowly repeated. "That is indeed the best defence against any curse. And what is the most simple way to not be there?" he asked in general.  
  
No one dared answer, so everyone was doing his or her utmost best to stare ahead.  
  
"It's to run. SO RUN," Moody bellowed at the candidates.  
  
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? RUN, YOU MAGGOTS, RUN" he roared at the confused students.  
  
As he began to run, Harry had just one thought: Oh shit.  
  
*****  
  
The first day had been gruelling. Moody had put them through a series of physical exercises the likes of which Harry had not even imagined. Lunch had been skipped and water was rationed. Drinking water by the litre at set intervals was enough to keep his body hydrated, but not enough to quench his thirst, leaving Harry's mouth dry constantly.  
  
During the runs, push-ups, moving tree trunks, digging holes in the earth and then filling them up again - basically any exhausting task that Moody could think up- he continued to ask questions on a wide variety of subjects - spells, shields, curses, hexes, ethics, logic riddles and a wide variety of general knowledge- and woe the person who gave the wrong answer; even the most pure-blooded of wizards and witches learned the meaning of doing a 'push-up'. As the day progressed, tiredness began to impede Harry's thought processes and correct answers were few and far between; he thought his arms were about to burst.  
  
At the end of the day, the sun long behind the horizon and darkness claiming Hogwarts' grounds, they were finally sent back to the castle for a meal.  
  
As the plates appeared on the single table in the Great Hall, a small part of Harry's mind concluded that even Aunt Petunia's cooking had looked better on the worst of days, but the hunger ravishing his body suppressed those thoughts and he was eating the gruel he was served with remarkable speed.  
  
Moody was standing at the far side of the table, his hands leaning on it and his face looking menacing. "After that pitiful performance today you people do not deserve to eat, but Dumbledore insisted you be fed. You can thank his bleeding heart for this food, if it were up to me you would still be out there. I knew you would all do badly, but you exceeded even that expectation, and went straight to dismal. I had expected better, even from you sorry maggots. Potter, I had expected you -you of all people- to do better. You know what's out there."  
  
Harry stopped listening. Snape had always been bad, but here was a man you had to respect, a highly lauded Auror, who said very much the same. Too tired to even think about it, Harry instead concentrated on eating. The taste was decent, despite the look of the food and he felt the energy it provided entering his system already.  
  
"That's enough, you sorry excuses for human beings," Moody barked, and with a wave of his wand the food disappeared. "Line up, NOW," the former Auror bellowed.  
  
"For those of you who thought it was time for bed - You were wrong.  
  
The first role of a Proctor is to defend the castle, and to do this you must know both offensive and defensive magic.  
  
Now I know most of you were members of the short-lived duelling club led by that idiot Lockhart.  
  
Let me assure you, this part of your training will be nothing like that. I mean business, people. Here you will learn to stay alive when facing anything from a flobberworm to the darkest wizard you can imagine.  
  
To begin with you will duel one-on-one and I will correct you as you go. For those of you who sit at the side while this goes on: first one to fall asleep or not pay attention. you will not be sleeping tonight!"  
  
Muttering under his breath, Moody rearranged the Great Hall with his wand, getting rid of tables, chairs, banners and wall hangings.  
  
"Potter, you are exempt from this part of the training for now. You will report to the Headmaster in the antechamber next to the staff table."  
  
Harry's stomach fell; he could guess the reason for this, but still.. He was once more being singled out, made into something special.  
  
With a bright blush he started walking towards the end of the hall.  
  
"Run, Potter! There is no walking this week," Moody snapped.  
  
Quickly Harry ran to the door while behind him he heard: "Zabini, Freedman, you two are up first."  
  
Fast as he could he slipped into the antechamber. The room was exactly how Harry remembered it from the year before. A small fire burned in the large fireplace to keep the moisture inherent to an old castle out of the room. A quick flash of Fleur Delacour, Victor Krum and Cedric Diggory standing by that fireplace flashed in his mind. Fleur had called him a little boy in this room and he had been quite angry with that. He sighed. How right she was and how wrong he had been.  
  
Dumbledore was already waiting for him.  
  
"Hello Harry, ready to start your real training?"  
  
*****  
  
Harry was floating through the white light in his core.  
  
He was only dimly aware of his body, which was sitting opposite of Dumbledore on the floor.  
  
As they had done before, their knees were touching and they had put their hands together. Dumbledore had then started to explain to Harry the need to control his emotions and thus his magic, but also the other way around.  
  
His emotions influenced his magic, and his magic influenced his emotions. It was a never-ending circle.  
  
Dumbledore had then started talking about meditation techniques, controlled breathing and body awareness.  
  
"I know you don't understand most of this, Harry, but the knowledge will come in handy when you get to a certain practical level," the Headmaster had said, and so Harry listened and tried to commit everything to memory, anything to prevent what had happened out in that field.  
  
Dumbledore had than told him to clear his mind and find his magic. It had been as easy as closing his eyes.  
  
That was what had brought him to this point.  
  
"Do you remember the crystal, Harry? How you filled it with magic?" Dumbledore's voice echoed through his head.  
  
"Yes," Harry responded.  
  
"No need to speak, Harry. Physically connected as we are now, out link is strong enough to carry our conscious thoughts to each other."  
  
What happened next was probably the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to Harry. His first reaction was surprise, and the thought: what about everything I don't want anyone to know? His second reaction was to picture Dumbledore naked.  
  
A chuckle sounded through his mind. "Don't worry, my boy. This is a perfectly normal reaction. I happens to us all the first time we are conscious of any kind of mind connection, although I must say that was one of the more flattering images of myself I have ever seen."  
  
"Sorry, Professor," Harry projected in his mind.  
  
"No matter. Now, do you remember what you did to fill the crystal?"  
  
"Yes, I. I'm not sure how to say this. I didn't grab my magic, but I sort of guided it to come out."  
  
"Yes. Your magic is no longer a tool or an energy you have access too, it is an integral part of you. That is why it no longer responds to you as it once did. Before you controlled it and accessed it with your wand, existing spells and your mind; you will find it works differently now, how I cannot yet say, but it will be very exciting to find out."  
  
Harry was sure he could hear the glee in Dumbledore's.. voice? No, mind maybe. The old wizard was truly excited of the prospect of discovery.  
  
"Now, Harry, I want you to relax, and just stay where you are now, in the centre of your magic. I think it will be very educational for both you and me to just observe for awhile. You can never know your own magic well enough. Remember that it seems to have a mind of its own from time to time."  
  
And that was what Harry did; he relaxed and floated, deeper and deeper into his own mind.  
  
"I want you to think of something that soothes you; that calms you down. This will be your focus for meditation. It is a tool to use, especially in the beginning to calm your mind. Later it will be a mental aid to start your meditation; after awhile you will find that you don't even need that anymore and it will come naturally."  
  
"What should I choose, Professor?" Harry projected into his mind.  
  
"Your focus is your own choice. Most of us already have one, something we think about that calms us down. Usually it is a place where we were happy, or a memory we are particularly fond of. Do you have such an image Harry? Have you ever used it?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry thought he could almost hear the twinkling of the headmaster's eyes in his voice.  
  
A picture he had used to calm down? He thought back, let his mind wander. Images flashed through his mind, flying, winning the Quidditch Cup, meeting Hagrid and finding out he was a wizard, the memory of Sirius telling him he could live with him. So many things; Hogwarts itself, not to mention his friends would qualify. Ron and Hermione. and his mind immediately hit upon a very recent memory. His eyes flew open and all his concentration was gone.  
  
"What is it, Harry? What disturbed you?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"Nothing," Harry answered with a breaking voice, "Nothing at all."  
  
"Alright," the headmaster said with a curious look in his eyes, "do you think you can resume meditating?"  
  
"Uhmm, no, not right now," Harry answered, his mind flashing back to the memory that had come so sudden, a memory of only last night on the south tower.  
  
"Very well," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry with curious amusement, "we can see how your magic abilities are."  
  
As Dumbledore stood and walked to a small box on a nearby salon table, Harry looked toward the fireplace. The fire had almost completely died down and only a fragment of wood remained. They must have been engaged in the mind link longer than he had thought. a lot longer.  
  
"Harry, if I could have your attention?" Dumbledore asked shaking Harry out of his train of thought.  
  
The Headmaster had taken a small white feather out of the box.  
  
"Now, I'm sure you remember the basic levitating charm from first year?" Dumbledore asked, and without waiting for an answer continued. "I'd like you to perform it on this feather."  
  
Harry looked at the feather. What was the catch? It just couldn't be as simple as it looked; nothing ever was when Dumbledore was involved.  
  
He took out his wand and with the swish and flick Flitwick had drilled into him he pronounced "Wingardium Leviosa."  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"Try again, Mr. Potter. This is not unexpected," Dumbledore encouraged.  
  
"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry said again, this time with more power in his voice, trying to will the magic to obey.  
  
Again nothing happened.  
  
"Wingardium Leviosa" Harry cried out, walking toward the feather. "Wingardium Leviosa, Wingardium Leviosa, Wingardium Leviosa," Harry repeated, getting annoyed.  
  
"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA," he said with anger.  
  
This had an unexpected result as the feather exploded with a dry bang, much as it had done for Ron in first year.  
  
"And now we know where we have to work from," Dumbledore said. "I think it best not to use any magic in class or daily life for a while, Mr. Potter. It could have. unexpected consequences," Dumbledore continued with a smile.  
  
"I think we have done enough for tonight. You may report to Instructor Moody, I suspect he is still in the Great Hall. Dismissed," Dumbledore said while leaving the room through a back door.  
  
*****  
  
"Damned, Chang; you should have seen that one coming a mile away. Are you even paying attention? Get back to your place" Moody said in his biting voice.  
  
As the former Auror turned to select another candidate, he saw Harry approach.  
  
"I see the famous Boy-Who-Lived has finally decided to join us. Aren't you babies in luck, this means it's your bed time and it's only one o'clock in the morning. Follow me."  
  
One o'clock in the morning? No wonder Harry felt exhausted. It had been a long and strenuous day, not only with Moody but his activities under Dumbledore's guidance had been a lot more tiring than they sounded. His fellow students didn't look very energetic, now that he paid attention.  
  
The group arrived at a room that contained nothing more than a number of field beds. The stone walls and floor were bare and the windows barred.  
  
"Boys to the left, girls to the right. As Mr. Freedman was kind enough to fall asleep during instruction he will be on guard this night. If and when no one has disciplinary guard duty, I will make a duty roster, but remember - some one WILL ALWAYS BE ON GUARD. Now, get changed and to bed, lights out in five minutes," Moody barked as the candidates entered the room.  
  
Harry was just too tired to care that there were females in the room; all he wanted was to get to bed and give his aching body a rest. He randomly selected a bed on the left side of the room. As he removed his clothes his only thoughts were of sleep.  
  
With some difficulty he crawled into the sleeping bag that lay on top of the field bed, his body protesting against the additional strain. Almost immediately after, lights went out and the room went almost completely dark.  
  
As Harry lay there he could slowly feel his muscles relax a little, they were so overtaxed that it actually hurt to just lie still and unwind. It took almost half an hour before his body was enough at peace to find some sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Harry was a light sleeper ever since the events on Privet Drive, so when he heard a hushed shuffling in the dark he was immediately fully awake.  
  
"Sonorus," he heard a voice whisper in the dark.  
  
"WAKE UP, MAGGOTS. IT'S ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL DAY. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO CLEAN UP AND PUT ON CLOTHES. BOYS TO THE LEFT, GIRLS TO THE RIGHT. MOVE IT, I FEEL LIKE MAKING ONE OF YOU QUIT THIS MORNING SO I WANT TO GET TO IT," Moody's voice bellowed through the room with the strength of ten howlers.  
  
And as Harry hurried to the bathroom he had but one thought: Oh Shit!  
  
A/N Multiple people have asked about pairings in this story. The answer is that I won't tell you. What I will tell you is that I will not be writing a 'we knew it was true love when we shared our first kiss at 15, he/she was the first and the last'. It happens, I know, but not often. That means that the first may not be the last, or they might, who knows. 


	19. Chapter XVIII

A/N it's been a while since the last chapter and you have my apologies; but alas life happened, as it does too many (fanfic)writers. For now, I hope you enjoy the latest chapter of PtP and don't forget to review.  
  
Traveller  
  
Chapter XVIII  
  
His lungs were still burning and his legs were cramped painfully, and he was not the only one breathing hard. All the students were lined up in a small courtyard located on the cliffs by the lake. It was sealed off at three sides by the castle and two high walls. The fourth side had an open view to the lake and its only perimeter was a low but very thick wall made out of cobblestones. The courtyard was only accessible by two doors, one to the insides of the castle, one in the east wall. They were all still breathing hard because they had just completed what Moody called 'light morning exercises.' If these were light exercises, Harry didn't want to get into a full program. Moody had started them out on lapping the lake twice.  
  
Their trainer, looking none the worse for wear despite doing exactly the same exercises as his charges and being more than three times their age, glared at them. "That was pathetic, people. Please do me and yourself a favour and leave because if you think it's bad now, you should realise it is about to get worse. I would like to introduce you maggots to John Strynger," he said, and a man appeared through the door that led into the castle. He was a common looking man of average height and build, and he did not look very impressive. With him he carried a stick approximately eight and a half feet in length. At the outer ends of the stick were leather paddings.  
  
"Master Strynger is here to instruct you in the noble art of quarterstaff fighting. The Quarterstaff is the traditional weapon for a Proctor; it is both ceremonial and effective. England has a long and proud tradition in the use of this 'king of weapons'. Respect it and respect your teacher or answer to me. I will see you all after class." As Moody walked off, Strynger placed himself before the line.  
  
"I am a Master Staff Man. You will address me as Master Strynger in this class and Mr. or Master Strynger outside of it, as you choose," the new teacher said, his voice even and with little inflection.  
  
"The quarterstaff was, and is an extremely versatile weapon, both on the battlefield and in personal combat. It can be used as freely as the staff man wishes to use it. When used to strike or hit it is like a sword or battle axe, when used to thrust it becomes like a spear; strikes and thrusts can be from either side of the body. This makes it very difficult for any opponent to respond quickly to these attacks that can change so readily from side to side, and from thrust to strike without pause. Because of it's versatility it is extremely suited for use against multiple opponents."  
  
Master Strynger started to walk up the line of students, looking each one in the eye as if trying to ascertain something.  
  
"A Staff Man has the advantage of reach over an unarmed opponent and over almost every conceivable hand weapon with the exception of shooting weapons. The only thing someone using a quarterstaff has to do is keep his enemy or enemies at a distance, victory will swiftly follow. This is what I shall teach you." There was a momentary pause and then the man continued. You may ask yourself: why learn this? We have magic that is far superior," Strynger said in an innocent tone, the first inflection he had allowed in his voice.  
  
The question was obvious in the demeanour of many of the candidates.  
  
"The answer is simple and twofold.  
  
The first is tradition. The quarterstaff is and always will be the weapon of a Proctor. It was used for centuries in a period of time where having a personal weapon was a necessity. It has been used to great affect by all those who went before you. As such it is a badge of office.  
  
The second consideration is practicality. Quite simply put, magic is not always the answer. At times it is impossible to conjure magic quick enough or in ample quantity; trust me when I say that this staff can be the only thing standing between you and your opponents, it can save your life. It can defend you against most conventional weapons used in the wizarding world. It also allows you to be more selective in your attacks under conditions that magic will not. You will learn this.  
  
An Englishman named Richard Peeke was involved in an episode during the English, Spanish wars and is a tale of how effective the Quarterstaff can be in trained hands. After being captured he went up against no less then six men all armed with rapiers and poniards as a part of a challenge. Peeke and the rapier men warily traversed each other, all the while thrusting and warding, till finally Peeke gambled on an all out attack. His first blow left one of his adversaries dead, and his subsequent blows left two others injured and disarmed. The remaining three yielded after receiving several painful blows. No doubt they also left the Spanish seriously questioning the wisdom of their invasion plans. Peeke's feat so impressed his Spanish captors that they released him and granted him safe conduct to England. A tale to warm the heart of any Englishman, if you ask me," Strynger laughed harshly.  
  
"Now get a quarterstaff from the basket," and indeed a house-elf had appeared with a basket full of sticks of the same design as Strynger was carrying, "then we'll get started."  
  
"Finally! I thought he'd never stop talking," Blaise Zabini murmured.  
  
"And what are we learning this for, it's bloody useless," a 7th year Ravenclaw added.  
  
"Trust me," Harry whispered, remembering how easily he had lost his wand on no less than two occasions only a short time before, "this could be useful."  
  
He selected a staff from the basket that was about a foot longer than he was. The smooth wood felt good in his hands and the weight comfortable, yet Harry couldn't escape the feeling that this staff was missing something.  
  
*****  
  
"Does anyone here think they can take me?" Master Strynger asked as all the candidates had chosen a staff.  
  
"Sure," the large and bulky 7th year Hufflepuff said, a confident grin on his face as he was sure he could beat the much smaller man.  
  
It had to be said, the boy was so large and bulking with muscle, that Harry thought he might just stand a chance.  
  
After some quick instruction on how to hold a quarterstaff, the two stood opposite each other on a training mat.  
  
"As this is the first time, you may attack," Master Strynger said.  
  
After a moment of hesitation the Hufflepuff - Henry Pereson, Harry thought his name was- charged, using the staff as an oversized stick to thwack with.  
  
Strynger quite easily deflected the attack with a deft movement and seemed to flow back to a relaxed basic stance.  
  
Pereson now decided to use the staff as a spear. With a loud roar, charging like a mad bull he rammed the end of his staff towards his opponent. Again Strynger deflected the blows: only moving his staff, not his body and Pereson fell face forward because his staff hit nothing.  
  
After he had gotten up Pereson attacked again, his face contorted in anger because of his fall, but Strynger easily defended. The difference in grace and purpose was clear even to the untrained eye.  
  
Suddenly, as Pereson was recovering from another futile attempt, Strynger's staff swept the unlucky student from his feet in a movement that was almost too quick to follow.  
  
"You see how easy it is to use a staff, even for the untrained. Had I not been capable of the defence I just put up I would have been unconscious. In the hands of a trained staff man this wood becomes a deadly weapon. I could have just as easily killed him, knocked him unconscious or crippled him as I knocked him down," Master Strynger said as Pereson crawled back to his feet, apparently none the worse for wear.  
  
"Not bad. What's your name?"  
  
"Henry Pereson, Sir."  
  
"Step back in line, Mr. Pereson. Anyone else want to try?"  
  
No one answered and Harry didn't think anyone would until Cho stepped forward.  
  
As Cho stepped onto the training mat, Strynger wanted to instruct her, but Cho was already in what appeared to be a relaxed waiting stance, quite different than the one their instructor had explained before, but it was clear that she knew what she was doing and she held the weapon easily in hand.  
  
Eying her suspiciously, Strynger asked: "What is your name?"  
  
"Cho Chang, Sir."  
  
"Any relation to Hien Chang?" Strynger asked.  
  
"My Uncle, Sir."  
  
"Good," was the instructor's only answer, a smile apparently tugging at his lips.  
  
Both bowed formally to each other in slightly different manners.  
  
This time Master Strynger did not wait for an attack but took the initiative himself. His staff blurred as he thrust each end successively towards Cho, who moved her own staff to intercept.  
  
All of a sudden Strynger changed his movement and with a spin attacked Cho at her middle.  
  
She was, however, not caught unprepared and she held her staff rigidly to the side of her body, then, at contact, flowed with the impact. She dropped to her knees and swiped her staff at Strynger's feet, only holding on to the tip.  
  
Quickly Strynger jumped up, avoiding the staff and took advantage of Cho's temporary lack of defence.  
  
Still in the air, he clamped his staff to his side and twisted his upper body as to hit Cho. She, however, was no longer in the place she had been a few seconds ago and was instead rolling towards Strynger. As she came out of the roll, she thrust her staff forward, hitting the instructor square in the chest, knocking him back.  
  
With what looked like a complicated move, letting the staff sweep around her, Cho resumed the same basic position from which she had begun. She was smiling, something Harry had not seen her do this year and her eyes had a spark in them.  
  
Strynger nimbly jumped to his feet with a grin and immediately pressed the attack again. He seemed to be moving much faster this time around, pressing Cho and driving her back, as he launched a volley of strikes on her right and left flank. Suddenly he changed tactics again and made a thrust at her head. Cho threw back her head and Strynger used the opening to turn the end of his staff closest to him downward and swiped Cho's left foot from underneath her.  
  
Cho hit the ground with a loud thud and Harry winced as he considered the bones Cho might have broken. Unlike Cho, Strynger pressed the attack and in a flash was standing over Cho thrusting his staff towards her head, stopping only at the last possible instant.  
  
The room was absolutely silent except for the heavy breathing of both Strynger and Cho.  
  
The instructor returned to a basic position and allowed Cho to stand.  
  
"Stand down," he barked and Cho relaxed.  
  
"Well done, Miss Chang, you are almost as good as your uncle. I have little to teach you and can only offer you myself as a sparring partner. Count on me using you to assist me in instructing this class as your knowledge of the Shaolin techniques seems to outweigh mine. You could use some instruction on English technique, however. There are certain advantages to knowing both."  
  
Master Strynger then returned his attention to his class and Cho stepped back in line.  
  
"As you could see the techniques Miss Chang and I used are quite different from each other. The Shaolin way she employs is focused on wearing out your enemy with numerous smaller attacks and is more focused on grace and style. The traditional English technique I employ is focused on one thing and one thing only: to take down your opponent fast and completely; we're hard bastards. Now let's get you started."  
  
The rest of the morning was spent practising basic handhold and manoeuvres with the quarterstaff while Strynger and Cho walked among the students to give advice and new instructions.  
  
Harry couldn't help but notice that sadly enough Cho seemed to be deliberately avoiding him. He sighed, but was not really surprised. After the way Cho had acted the day before he had a fair idea of what she thought of him and it was not good. He couldn't really blame her though; he was, after all, responsible for the death of her boyfriend.  
  
As the exercises became increasingly difficult and the pace increased Harry forgot his thoughts and feelings over Cho's behaviour. He had never done much sport outside of Quidditch; the Dursleys' wouldn't let him. As he learned more and more basic techniques and he became surer of what he was doing, Harry found he enjoyed the single-minded focus. He needed all his concentration to make the movements work with his inexperience and no other thoughts bothered him. Thrust. Block. Strike. Strike again.  
  
*****  
  
Harry was quite surprised by Moody's sudden appearance and his order to lunch. He was glad for the food though. Yesterday there had been no lunch and he had felt the extra strain on his body. Now, after demanding physical effort, he was ravenous and he didn't think he could go without food.  
  
Lunch consisted not of the same gruel they had been served the day before, but rather of sandwiches and fruit, with all the pumpkin juice and milk they could drink.  
  
Harry was still prone to eating quickly; his instinct still told him it could be taken away at a moment's notice, just like Vernon had done.  
  
For once his instincts served him well as Moody announced the ending of lunchtime after only a few minutes, and the look on several faces clearly said they had not eaten all they wanted.  
  
Alastor Moody led them to a nearby classroom where Professor McGonagall was waiting for them.  
  
The look on the face of strict Transfiguration Mistress made it clear that she would accept even less in this lecture then she would during her normal classes.  
  
"Welcome to Protocol and Rules. I will be teaching you Hogwarts' Rules as a Prefect or Proctor should know them, the proper conduct of a Proctor and the relationship between Proctor, teacher, Prefect, and student," she said in her usual 'pay attention this is important tone.'  
  
"We expect the very best out of you, so you will apply yourself to this material."  
  
McGonagall handed out a thick booklet with the heading 'Hogwarts' Rules and Protocol'.  
  
"Please open to page one and we will start reviewing the rules," Professor McGonagall announced.  
  
As Harry quickly scanned the first page he saw that although he knew most of these rules from a student's point of view, this list contained a lot of amendments, exceptions and additions.  
  
Although McGonagall was a fair teacher, even she could not make a reviewing of rules interesting, especially to a very sleepy Harry.  
  
He was sure that he had gotten only a few hours sleep the previous night, and he was physically tired. The classroom was very warm and cosy and McGonagall's droning voice was very soothing. This made the prospect of nice nap very alluring until from the back of the class Moody's voice bellowed: "BELL, GUARD DUTY TONIGHT FOR SLEEPING IN CLASS.  
  
All of a sudden all the students present sat up straight, their eyes wide awake and their attention fully on the lecture.  
  
Shortly, Harry glanced to his right and gave Katie a sympathetic look. She shrugged and looked acquiescent to her circumstances.  
  
*****  
  
The next class was about the history of Hogwarts and the Protectorate Council. Again the classroom was very warm and cosy and because of Binns' droning the whole thing was even more sleep inducing than McGonagall's class despite the fact that it was the most interesting History class that Harry had ever attended. The ghostly Professor somehow managed to make it all sound boring, a fact that gave three more students guard duty that night.  
  
The afternoon was concluded with one final lesson on etiquette by Professor Sininstra, the elegant and beautiful (for a teacher, Harry added to himself) Astronomy teacher.  
  
It wasn't that Harry minded the class so much, although it was hard to determine what it was good for through the haze that had settled in his brain; in fact he thought he could probably use it seeing as how the Dursley's had raised him, or better said, not raised him.  
  
It was just that the classroom was so warm, he was so tired, so very tired, the Professor's voice melodic and his desk seemed so soft that he could not help his mind from drifting off to sleep, his eyes drooping and his head sagging every few seconds, after which he would jerk his head up in shock, especially if Moody was assigning another student guard duty that night, and as they had found out that morning from Phalu Freedman, disciplinary guard duty meant no sleep.  
  
"POTTER, GUARD DUTY TONIGHT FOR SLEEPING IN CLASS," Moody yelled as Harry found himself with his head on his desk.  
  
That only left three students not disciplined- one of them, surprisingly enough, Freedman.  
  
*****  
  
Dinner followed classes. This time dinner was something Harry could actually see as edible, unlike the night before. Ravenously he tore into his food, quickly followed by the others who all remembered lunch.  
  
After dinner Moody once more cleared the table from the Great Hall and conjured a mat. Again Harry was excused from the exercise and sent to Dumbledore for special lessons.  
  
Dumbledore showed Harry several breathing techniques to help with the meditation he was teaching him, after which they tried several spells.  
  
It was frustrating, but again not even the simplest spell would come from his wand correctly. Dumbledore was encouraging enough, but his failure did not have the best effect on Harry's already downcast mood.  
  
As he re-entered the Great Hall after the failed session, all the other students were already gone except for Blaise Zabini. As he approached her she stared daggers at him and impatiently tapped her foot.  
  
"What took you so long, Potter? Isn't it enough you get special treatment because of that scar of yours? Now you have to keep me waiting?" she snapped.  
  
"I'm sorry, Dumbledore has me."  
  
"I'm sure Dumbledore has you drinking tea and eating cookies while we are being put through a mangler by Moody, but frankly, I don't care. We are to report to the armoury. Guard duty is done in full armour."  
  
"But I'm not." Harry started to protest against Blaise's hard words.  
  
Without waiting for what he had to say, the Slytherin turned her back to Harry and walked out of the Great Hall. After a moment, Harry followed her.  
  
*****  
  
Tired, he was so very tired. No, tired was not a strong enough word; exhausted came close. Harry could hardly keep his eyes open. For two nights now he had been on guard duty; the only one to have the bad luck to pull it on two consecutive nights.  
  
After the first night he had been tired, the morning exercises had been that much harder to complete, his attention that much harder to focus on Master Strynger's lessons.  
  
It had been bad enough that he had to help Blaise into her Hogwarts' provided armour, instead of the custom made armour - he had to put his hands on places he was sure he was not allowed to go- but when it came time for Blaise to help him into his armour, an even worse fit than hers, he had not known where to look from embarrassment. He had felt her hands all over his body, straightening underclothes, smoothing them down; he felt her hand slide across his back while she tightened the straps. And the sight of her kneeling in front of him while her hands adjusted the laces on his boots. it was enough to drive away his sleep. His response had been obvious and probably unavoidable. Why, oh why couldn't they just use their own armour? They would probably be a much easier fit. But rules were rules, according to Moody, and they weren't Proctors yet.  
  
To top it all off he had to take her attitude, all night long. They had both been assigned to the main doors. It had been a very long night. Oh well, at least Blaise was a lot more original than Malfoy; and she didn't seem to have trouble with Muggleborns per se, just with poor people, dumb people, clumsy people, tasteless people. all kinds of people that weren't up to her standards. And if only she'd have stopped with the innuendo's. he had found out it could get very uncomfortable, very quickly in poorly fitting armour. He just did not understand her.  
  
Harry was currently trying to concentrate on a lecture by Professor Flitwick on duelling. While he had been in session with Professor Dumbledore, all the other candidates had been evaluated on their skills in this particular field. It had quickly been decided to go back to the basics. It was unfair according to Harry, he hadn't even been tested himself. then again, he wouldn't accomplish much right now, would he?  
  
".unless surprised, distracted or in a small and confined space, any witch or wizard can get a shield up. The whole point of duelling, especially if both are equally powerful, is to either break the other's shield, or slip something by it. Now, as you all should know, a shield can be made in two ways. A specialized shield, focused on one kind of curse, hex or charm or a class of curse, hex or charm. The other possibility is a general shield, focused to keep anything out," the tiny professor lectured while pacing up and down his desk with his little legs, looking more serious than Harry had ever seen him look.  
  
"Of course, a general shield is much weaker, or much more draining, than a focused shield. As a general rule, the more general the shield the more power it consumes. Therefore, if you can anticipate your opponent's next move you can save yourself a lot of energy. Knowledge is power in this particular field. Know your opponent and you can anticipate."  
  
Harry felt his head drop to his chest. He quickly pinched himself to keep awake, but it was getting harder and harder.  
  
"We will first focus on teaching you several different general shield charms. Experience has taught us that every person has his own preference. We will just have to find out what yours is. We will begin with the Aegis charm, then Protego, and for those of you capable of it, we will experiment with the Scutum incantation, however .  
  
Harry was at peace. He felt warm, content, and the best thing was: his eyes were closed. He needed this; he couldn't function another minute without some sleep. Maybe he could keep sitting up, pretending to listen while he slept? But the thought was soon lost to slumber.  
  
He dreamt. Dreamt about Ron and him playing Quidditch, dreamt about Hermione telling him things in the library -such a peaceful place, he liked it. Better not tell Hermione that, she'd want to spend all her time there if he didn't drag her away from time to time. But he'd keep doing that, he liked spending time with her, in or out of the library- dreamt he paid Zabini back for all her snarky remarks and innuendos by.  
  
"POTTER, GUARD DUTY FOR SLEEPING IN CLASS," Moody bellowed the now familiar words.  
  
Harry sat straight up, he was awake. Third night in a row without sleep. He had always made do with little sleep, and during the past few months the hours he slept only diminished, but three nights without sleep? Did Moody dislike him? Maybe blamed him for what had happened last year?  
  
"The strength of a shield charm is directly proportional to the amount of magic the caster puts into it -or is able to put into it- and the sheer will of the caster," Flitwick kept lecturing, not at all perturbed by the interruption, he had apparently gotten used to it after falling off his desk the first two times.  
  
"It can be concluded then, that the power a shield and the power of the curses one caster can produce is a constant; the stronger the shield, the weaker the offensive. Sometimes it is better to evade curses instead of taking them on shields as to preserve power."  
  
Harry sighed and resumed taking notes. How was he going to remember all of this if he was so very tired?  
  
****  
  
Harry was swaying on his feet. He was just too tired to stand up straight. For the third night in a row he was standing disciplinary guard in front of the main entrance.  
  
"Harry, over here," a female voice whispered.  
  
Harry turned to his left and could just see a lock of blond hair peeping around the corner of the entrance hall.  
  
"Katie, is that you?" he asked surprised.  
  
"Yes. Keep your voice down; we don't want anyone to hear."  
  
Harry walked towards the pillar she was hiding behind.  
  
"We've all decided that we should help out the ones on guard duty. It's the only way we're going to survive this week," she whispered. "That's why I'm here. The plan is as follows: Freedman and Chang are breaking into the infirmary as we speak. They're going to knick us some pepper-up potions. If you guys take it when you get off duty, it should be enough to wash away a part of the exhaustion. That way, you get to stay awake during class and sleep in bed."  
  
From a distance they could hear the familiar clunking Moody made while walking.  
  
"Shit, it's Moody," Katie cursed, "I've got to hide."  
  
She was about to run down another passage when Harry stopped her. "Not that way; he'll see you if he goes past the Great Hall and takes the backstairs instead of coming down the main stairs. That eye of his sees through walls, you know."  
  
"What then?"  
  
"Too late, he's almost here. get behind me, it's our only chance, maybe he'll be too tired to notice, he can't be getting much sleep either."  
  
Quickly Katie squatted behind Harry, under his heavy cloak which quite flustered Harry. She grabbed onto his upper legs for balance.  
  
"Potter, you awake?" Moody said in a voice that echoed in the massive entry hall.  
  
"Yes sir. Nothing unusual to report," Harry said. He had become used to these nightly inspections and anticipated what the next question was going to be.  
  
Moody looked at Harry, as if detecting some lie in his voice, but apparently did not notice Katie behind him.  
  
"Good, carry on," the former Auror said.  
  
After the sound of Moody's walk had completely disappeared, Katie appeared from under Harry's cloak.  
  
"How the hell did he miss you?" Harry asked incredulously. "I thought we were done for."  
  
Katie looked at Harry with inquisitive eyes, as if trying to see if there was anything different about him. Suddenly her eyes lit up and her mouth formed into a smile. "It's the armour, it must be. He can't see through dragon hide. We'll have to remember that."  
  
She looked over her shoulder and listened for any sounds.  
  
"I'll have to be quick; no telling when he'll be back. Listen, the pepper- up potion will only work against exhaustion if your body is hydrated. In this night air you loose almost half again the fluids you lose during a normal day. That's why the sleepers will all take turns to bring the candidates on guard duty something to drink."  
  
She reached inside her own cloak and pulled a clay flask.  
  
"I've brought you some tea; it's the best we could conjure up. Davies will be along half way through the night to bring you another and some food if we can manage it. But we're not sure where to get it."  
  
"Why not try the kitchens? I'm sure the House-elves would love to help," Harry said.  
  
"If only we knew where the kitchens are. I'm afraid that's one of Fred and George's best kept secrets."  
  
"They're right beneath the Great Hall, behind the fruit painting in the corridor towards the Hufflepuff common room. All you have to do is tickle the pear. You can ask the House-elves for anything you want. If you have any problems, just ask for a House-elf named Dobby and tell him I sent you."  
  
"Harry, I could just kiss you, you know?" Katie crowed.  
  
"Well, Katie, it's not that you're not nice, but." Harry stuttered.  
  
"Oh Harry, get over yourself," Katie said her laugh disappearing into the castle halls.  
  
*****  
  
"How are things progressing?"  
  
"Just as we expected. They're pulling together nicely; and I'm quite sure I saw Bell sneak off to Potter, so we don't have to worry about him being left out because he can't participate in the practical duelling exercises."  
  
"You did treat him rather harshly, don't you think Alastor? Three nights in a row? That might be a bit much."  
  
"I have to make sure the group takes him in, especially him. Best case scenario would be for all of them to rally around Potter. But whatever the case, he must not be seen as being coddled."  
  
"I will leave it in your capable hands then and tell Madam Pomfrey to make sure there is an ample supply of pepper-up potion."  
  
"There is just one thing that bothers me."  
  
"And what is that, Alastor?"  
  
"How the hell did Bell disappear like that? There was no way she could have slipped by me, and I couldn't see her hiding out anywhere near Potter."  
  
"It is very educational to see that even you can be fooled sometimes. I think I will let our future Proctors keep their advantage. for now," Albus Dumbledore said while he leaned back in his chair, a smile forming on his lips and his eyes twinkling with mirth. 


	20. Chapter XIX

Chapter IXX  
  
"You're pathetic, Potter," Moody whispered into his ear. He was bent over Harry who was, in fact, lying on the floor, desperately trying to push himself up. "I know it, you know it, and they know it," he continued in a soft and reasonable tone, throwing a quick glance at the other candidates. "Why don't you just quit? It'd be so much easier, hmm?"  
  
"No," Harry groaned, meanwhile doubling his effort to do another push-up.  
  
Moody stood up and turned to the other students. "DISMISSED. YOU WORTHLESS BUNCH REPORT TO MASTER STRYNGER... and tell him Mr. Potter will be... late."  
  
He turned back to Harry, ignoring the students who were filing out, most of them throwing Harry encouraging gestures and looks that all went unnoticed.  
  
"So, Potter, not ready to quit are you?" Moody whispered in a low, menacing tone.  
  
Harry grunted and shook his head in response, not having any energy for more. He tried to push himself up again, but his arms wouldn't cooperate and all it accomplished was to increase the ache in his muscles.  
  
Moody had been yelling out questions during morning exercise. As usual, Harry was his preferred target. Unfortunately, he had given the wrong answer to one of Moody's more obscure questions. He would have had a hard time answering that question in a class, but with his mind clouded in exhaustion it was nigh on impossible. Now he was paying the price: thirty push-ups. Not easy at any given time, but it was the fourth time in a row, and that made it into a large problem, he wasn't even half way.  
  
"I'll make you a deal, Potter," Moody continued in that soft, lethal voice that could give anyone goose-bumps, "you give me five more push-ups and we'll call it even. I won't call on you during lessons anymore if you give me five more push-ups."  
  
Five more, and then he'd be done. It sounded like heaven. Harry took a deep breath and pushed. With shaking arms he managed to get himself up. He collapsed back down.  
  
"Good, Potter. That was one; four more to go. You think you can make it? Or would you just rather quit?"  
  
Again he strained his muscles and managed to get himself up.  
  
"That's two, Potter. Three more to go."  
  
Panting, Harry lay on the floor, summoning every scrap of strength and energy he had left.  
  
"What are you waiting for, Potter? I haven't got all day, or should I just take this as your wish to leave? You've already gotten farther than I had expected you too. There's no shame in quitting"  
  
He pushed and got himself up and collapsed again, panting and tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn't do it, he was too tired, his arms were burning and his chest was aching.  
  
"Come on Potter, two more," Moody said in an angry growl.  
  
He just couldn't do it. It was over, he would quit. Moody had won. With that admittance, if only to himself, came peace. He'd get to sleep as long as he wanted in a nice soft bed; he could take a nice long hot bath, eat and drink as much as he wanted, nobody was going to yell at him tomorrow, throw spells at him, or make him learn things he'd forget two minutes later because he was too tired. Tears streamed over his cheeks, he was so relieved.  
  
"Are you quitting on me, Potter? Is that it? Are you truly that pathetic?" Moody spat, and walked away from Harry.  
  
Harry turned his head just a bit so he could see what the former Auror was doing. He was standing a few feet away, his back turned.  
  
"I expected more out of you, Potter. Here was some one I could teach, I thought, to finally pass on all of my knowledge to someone who truly understood, someone who was worthy. But no, you're weak. You would lie around here and wait for Voldemort to come along and end it all for you, wouldn't you?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes, feeling the sting of the remark, but too tired to get upset about it.  
  
"And after he killed you, he'd go after those friends of yours. The Weasley boy, right? But you don't really care," Moody said those last words in a careless voice.  
  
Harry's eyes flew open. Moody still had his back turned to him.  
  
"That's right, Ron Weasley his name is. He'd probably get a simple Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra, a fraction of a second of excruciating pain and it would all be over. But that's not enough to get you going, is it? Because. You're. Tired," Moody spat.  
  
Harry turned his head toward the ground and put his hands on the floor. He looked for any energy left, took a deep breath and pushed... and failed.  
  
Moody's voice turned cruel and cold. "And let's not forget that little Muggleborn girl you keep around. She's kind of pretty; I wonder what Voldemort would do to her? Cruciatus curse maybe? He does seem to despise Muggleborns. He'll probably give her to his Death Eaters; there are some lowlifes amongst them that wouldn't balk at raping a cute little thing like her, just for fun." A moment of silence. "JUST. BECAUSE. YOU. WERE. TIRED."  
  
Harry growled; an angry sound that seemed to start somewhere in his chest and reverberated in his entire body. In quick bursts of desperate strength he pushed himself up twice, fell to the floor and rolled over, panting, tears streaming from his eyes, this time from exhaustion beyond what he had ever thought was possible.  
  
A vague figure loomed above him, obscured by the tears... it was Moody.  
  
"So, now you know. You know what will happen if Voldemort isn't stopped, the damage he will do, what world the ones who survive his rising will live in." Moody sighed. "Today you have learned to use a valuable aid; you know that anger can be used, can give you strength when you need it. Use your anger, Potter, it can save your life. Use everything you have; you, of all people, are going to need it," Moody almost whispered, an unfamiliar, kind inflection in his voice.  
  
"I'm sorry you had to learn that lesson so young, and I'm sorry I had to be the one to teach you," sadness and emotional fatigue was clear in his voice.  
  
Harry felt his eyelids drop and the last thing he saw was Moody leaving the room, after that, he was asleep on the hard stone floor.  
  
****  
  
"Close your eyes, relax. Now breath in, hold... and breath out," Dumbledore's voice whispered into Harry's private little world.  
  
Every time he and Dumbledore did these exercises, every time he touched his magic in this fashion, he tumbled further and further into his core. He had discovered that the white light he had floated in was much vaster than he had ever imagined. It was strange to give physical dimensions to a place that existed only in his mind, but it seemed the easiest way to cope.  
  
"When you are certain you are relaxed, I want you to open your eyes and cast the charm," the Headmaster's serene voice echoed.  
  
Taking one more deep breath Harry slowly opened his eyes, raised his wand and said very calmly: "Wingardium Leviosa." His voice was soft and even.  
  
Nothing happened. Even this seemed like a pretty good sign to Harry; at least the feather he was trying to levitate hadn't exploded.  
  
"Again, if you please, Harry," Dumbledore said encouragingly.  
  
He took another deep breath, calmed himself and again said: "Wingardium Leviosa," this time with just a tad bit more power behind it.  
  
The feather seemed to shiver for a moment before slowly but surely rising into the air, responding to Harry's wand movement.  
  
"All it takes is time and effort," Dumbledore said with a beaming smile.  
  
Happy to have done his first magic in months- well, intentional magic anyway- Harry felt laughter bubble up inside him. As he made the feather float over the Headmaster's head he felt exhilaration... and promptly the feather burst into a thousand little pieces, all of them twirling down on the top of Dumbledore's head.  
  
"Control, Harry, you must learn control," the headmaster sounded a bit exasperated. "Even so," the wizened wizard sighed, "I am very pleased with this progress. We will continue practise tomorrow. Remember to do some of the meditation we practised tonight."  
  
Harry agreed, but knew that if anything, he'd be asleep as soon as he had a moment's rest.  
  
*****  
  
The following days seemed to go by in a flash. The days were still overly filled with Quarterstaff training by Master Strynger, lectures on duelling by Flitwick, Protocol lessons by McGonagall, etiquette with Sinistra, sessions with Dumbledore and exercise with Moody. It seemed to Harry, however, that since his first successful casting of a spell, he had passed a bump, and everything seemed easier, if no less exhausting. Or perhaps it was because Moody's words had struck at a vulnerable spot, Harry admitted to himself in reflective moments, rare and far in between though they were. He'd do anything to protect his friends... his family. He would do what was necessary.  
  
Soon the 31st of August was there, the day before the other Hogwarts students were to arrive.  
  
Morning started as usual.  
  
"WAKE UP, YOU LAZY SODS. I'LL BE DAMNED IF NOT ONE OF YOU QUITS BEFORE THIS WEEK IS OVER. ASSEMBLY AT THE FRONT STEPS IN FIVE MINUTES. MOVE IT!" Moody's now familiar voice blasted through the shared sleeping quarters.  
  
Without conscious thought, Harry hurried to hastily wash himself. There was no time for showers, there had been none for the entire week- except in the evenings when no one took the opportunity, favouring sleep -and he felt filthy. Quickly he slipped into his exercise clothes, already stretching his muscles as best he could, anticipating the gruelling effort that awaited them.  
  
After morning exercises -which were a lot harder and more intense than he could have imagined in the beginning of the week- they made their way to breakfast. Everyone ate as fast as they could, knowing eating could be over at any time.  
  
First on their program was a lecture by Professor McGonagall.  
  
"The relation between Prefects and Proctors is a delicate one. Prefects have no authority over Proctors, but Proctors may override Prefects if they deem it in the best interest of security. I must, however, stress that Proctors have little authority when it comes to other areas of a Prefect's duties, and they may not interfere between Prefects and students except in emergency circumstances. You would be well-advised to leave Prefects alone unless there is a very direct reason for you to interfere, for example during an emergency.  
  
Next we will look at the..."  
  
Harry let his conscious mind drift away, absorbing most of the material, but not hearing it.  
  
****  
  
Limping, they made their way towards the Great Hall. They had just concluded a particularly nasty training session with Quarterstaffs, and Harry could feel bruises all over his body. Cho had been his partner; she had not been kind and had not said a word to him. Moody had told them he would meet them for a practical duelling session before dinner. That statement had elicited a lot of sub vocal groans. This meant that dinner would be very, very late tonight, even to this week's standard.  
  
The doors to the Great Hall were closed, not an every day event. The first two to arrive, the 7th year Gryffindor named Howard and the 7th year Ravenclaw Devon, opened the doors so that the rest could walk in.  
  
Instead of the expected training mat, there was a large table in the centre of the Hall. Before it, with their backs to it, stood every instructor that had tortured them this week: Moody, Strynger, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sinistra, Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey, who had taught them emergency medical procedures. Sprout and Snape were also present, apparently in their capacity of Heads of House.  
  
The Great Hall was decorated as if for a great feast, with elaborate hangings, House banners and festively floating candles.  
  
It was enough to make them all freeze in their steps. What was going on?  
  
"Welcome candidates," Dumbledore's cheery voice sounded, "if you would be so kind as to join us?"  
  
As they were indicated, the students lined themselves up, opposite the teachers.  
  
"It is my great pleasure to be the first Headmaster in 350 years to initiate Proctors to the service of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore began his speech.  
  
"It has been long since any headmaster saw the need to reinstate the Protectorate Council, but in these dangerous times to come, I am sure you will all come to share my reasons for doing so.  
  
I am very pleased that our trust in the abilities of the students we chose for this singular student authority has not been misplaced. All of you have made it through your testing week, without having quit or given reason to be dismissed."  
  
McGonagall stepped forward with a scroll in her hands. "As I call out your name, please make your way to Professor Dumbledore who will give you your Proctor badge, then the present teachers and instructors would like to congratulate you. After that, please return to your place in line."  
  
Using her reading glasses she peered upon the scroll and called out: "Catherine Bell, Gryffindor."  
  
As Katie stepped forward towards Dumbledore, the Headmaster turned back to the table and retrieved a golden badge with a large P on it.  
  
"Congratulations," he said, as he handed Katie the badge with two hands. "We are all very proud of you and are sure you will be an exemplary Proctor. This badge will symbolise both your authority and your duty, never forget it."  
  
"Thank you," Katie said, a proud look spreading over her face.  
  
She took a step sideward and was congratulated by McGonagall. "You have done Gryffindor proud, not only by completing this week, but also by the way you supported your house- and schoolmates."  
  
As Katie moved sideward again, to be congratulated by Professor Flitwick, McGonagall looked at her scroll again and called out: "Jean-Paul Cardinale, Slytherin."  
  
"Cho Chang, Ravenclaw."  
  
"Roger Davies, Ravenclaw."  
  
"Owen Dervorshire, Hufflepuff."  
  
"Howard Everard, Gryffindor"  
  
"Phalu Freedman, Slytherin."  
  
"Jennifer Hawker, Gryffindor."  
  
"Henry Pereson, Hufflepuff."  
  
"Harry Potter, Gryffindor."  
  
"Congratulations, Harry. I am very proud of you, as would your parents have been. This badge will symbolise both your authority and your duty, never forget it."  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You do Gryffindor and Hogwarts proud." McGonagall said.  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. I hope you will soon be able to take part in practical duelling lessons. I can't wait to see what you can do," Flitwick piped up to Harry.  
  
"Devon Smythe, Ravenclaw."  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. Very commendable effort on your part," Sprout said in a brisk tone.  
  
"Well, well, Potter, I'm surprised you didn't go running to the Weasleys on the first day, especially since you did not have Ms. Granger to prompt you," Snape said in a disdainful voice, then he leaned forward and whispered "Just remember that all that glitters is not gold."  
  
As Harry moved left he heard McGonagall call out the last name: "Blaise Zabini, Slytherin."  
  
He could just see her past Smythe, as she received the last badge from Dumbledore.  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You show promise with your Quarterstaff, keep up the good work."  
  
She looked supremely confident, just like she had all week, never once being fazed by Moody, or at least not showing it.  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Potter. I hope to see a lot less of you this year, but I'm afraid that this Proctor business will only see to it that you come my way far more often than with Quidditch alone."  
  
What was it about her that irked him so?  
  
"Mr. Potter, you will soon have the makings of a true English gentleman. I hope you will not forget the things I taught you? I'm quite sure you will need them."  
  
She was pretty, sure, but she was also a Slytherin, an arrogant bitch and she seemed to know things he didn't.  
  
"Well done, Potter. I know I've been tough on you this week, but it was necessary. If you're interested, I'm willing to come back and give you those duelling lessons you missed as soon as you're able," Moody said, a smile on his lips that made his face only look scarier. Harry returned back to his place in line and waited for the last few Proctors to do so as well.  
  
"As was tradition in times past, Proctors were not only bound to Hogwarts by duty, but also by magic. The oath you have been taught is magical in nature and should not be taken lightly. It is just as binding as any magical contract. It is an intricate part of Hogwarts, just as are the wards, shields and other magic endowments," Dumbledore told them.  
  
"If you are still willing to commit to the school, please repeat after me:  
  
To Protect To Defend To Preserve both student and school This is my duty, this is my task To stand above the houses and serve all As was set down by the Hogwarts Four Gryffindor, with courage to the fore Hufflepuff, loyal to the last Ravenclaw, with mind and magic Slytherin, that cunning may preserve I will not falter in my duty To the Protectorate Council I pledge.  
  
*****  
  
Harry was taking a shower. His first shower in over a week, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. He had already washed his hair twice, and still it felt unclean. He grabbed the shampoo bottle again, lathered his hair and just stood still for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of the hot water on his body.  
  
"Hey, Potter, you still in here?"  
  
"Yes," he shouted back, recognizing Everard's voice.  
  
"Well, get out here. We're going to have a little party to celebrate the end of Hell Week."  
  
Hell Week; that was what was fast becoming the official nickname for what they had just been through.  
  
After the initiation ceremony -the end of Hell Week- there had been a celebration dinner in the Great Hall. Butterbeer had been served and for the very first time, Harry thought he could feel the impact of the diminutive amount of alcohol in the brew. It was as informal as he had ever seen a gathering where both teachers and students were present. His conversation with Dumbledore had been interesting enough, especially after Smythe had joined them. The Ravenclaw seemed to know the Headmaster outside of school.  
  
After this small celebration, they had been told that the evening was theirs, and that their trunks with the things they had not been allowed to keep for the week would be sent up to the dormitories they had shared during Hell Week. They would be moved to their real housing tomorrow.  
  
Dumbledore had sent them away, but his last remark to Harry had been to see him in the morning as he had a 'little job' for him. The mischievously twinkling eyes had set off all kind of alarm bells in Harry's head; he wondered what the Headmaster had meant?  
  
"Potter, are you coming or not?" Everard asked, his voice now next to the stall Harry was in.  
  
"I'll be out in a minute," Harry replied.  
  
"Best hurry up. Can you believe they are still letting us share a dormitory with the girls? If not for that I would have been asleep the minute I walked in here. That, and the fact that Freedman brought a bottle of rum in his trunk," Everard said in a happy but tired voice. "I think the staff thought we'd just be too tired and go to bed straight away."  
  
After Harry had finished his shower and put on some of the new clothes that had come with his trunk, he headed into the shared dormitory.  
  
"Ah, the prodigal son returns," Smythe called out in a boisterous voice.  
  
"Freedman, give Harry the bottle, he hasn't had any yet," Jennifer Hawker said, equally loud.  
  
Not really surprising, considering she was sitting in Smythe's lap.  
  
Harry was handed the bottle and with a big sigh of contentment took a large swig. The smoky drink hit like a sledgehammer. He took another swig.  
  
"Hold on there, killer. Merlin, I didn't know 5th years could drink like that," Freedman said, creating general hilarity and laughter.  
  
Harry made his way to his cot and sat down like a bag of bones.  
  
"Ah, but then again, Potter isn't your average 5th year, now is he?" Katie Bell said with merriment.  
  
God, he hoped this was not going to be some Boy-Who-Lived fan club meeting.  
  
"Of course not," Pereson bellowed like only he could, "he's Proctor material."  
  
A general cheer went up, proud faces all around. They had really done it; they had survived Hell Week and were now Proctors.  
  
"A toast to The Protectorate Council, hip hip...," Freedman said, after which he took a swig from the bottle.  
  
"Hooray," multiple voices cheered.  
  
The bottle was circulated again; Harry took another swig, and then passed it. He could learn to like rum, but he thought he preferred whiskey.  
  
Tired, he sat back and listened to the conversations around him. It turned out there were more bottles to be shared, and one by one they were opened. The celebration had been on for about an hour and Harry was pretty sure that so far, he'd had rum, whiskey and some kind of brandy. He wasn't particularly fond of that brandy; quite frankly it had tasted awful.  
  
That was why he was now nursing the bottle of whiskey. No one seemed to mind much as it created too much of a burning sensation going down for most of them (except for Smythe, whose bottle it was. The 7th year Ravenclaw, however, seemed to be otherwise... occupied, however).  
  
He threw the bottle back again, scanning the room. Cho seemed to be in quiet conversation with Roger Davies. Four others were playing Exploding Snap. Jean-Paul and Owen were singing all kinds of songs involving drinking, liquor and 'Wein, Weib und Gesang' of which Harry had no idea what it meant.  
  
He tried to stand up, but immediately fell back to the bed a bit dizzy. Carefully he got up again, walking towards the door to the hallway. He definitely needed some fresh air; being exhausted and drinking did not go well together.  
  
He leaned against the cool wall in the shady corridor. The only light available was from a few magical torches; no smoke, only light and heat. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his thoughts together.  
  
"Can't ickle Potter take his booze? A few mouthfuls enough to knock you on your arse?"  
  
Damn! Zabini.  
  
"Get lost Zabini, I'm not in the mood for your games," Harry sighed.  
  
"Oh, but I am, Potter. I am. What? You scared of a little girl, Potter? You? The big bad hero?" she said scathingly.  
  
Those last few words hit a little too close to home for Harry's peace of mind; they were very much like what Vernon had once said.  
  
He looked up and caught Blaise's eye. "Don't think I will ever make the mistake of underestimating you, Zabini. You might get away with that cute girl act with some people, but I've seen what you can do with a wand," he said in a tense tone of voice.  
  
"Oh, Potter, you think I'm cute? I feel so honoured. Not many girls can say that the Harry Potter thinks they're cute," she replied in a sarcastically sweet voice.  
  
"That's not what I said..." Harry muttered.  
  
Blaise only laughed.  
  
"Are you going to sod off or should I find somewhere else to stand for a while?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh please, Potter. By all means stay. I wouldn't want you to get lost in the castle. Who knows, You-Know-Who might catch you, and what would the Wizarding World do without the Great Harry Potter?" she said with an arrogant smirk on her face.  
  
"You would know about that, wouldn't you Zabini? You're a Slytherin after all, practically a Death Eater in training," Harry sneered, his tongue getting ahead of his tired mind. He regretted the remark immediately.  
  
Blaise took one fluid step towards Harry and with her face only a few inches from his hissed: "Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Potter. You might say the wrong thing."  
  
"What is it you want, Zabini?" he answered in a low, growling voice.  
  
She didn't reply, but instead stared into his eyes and then, after a brief moment, grabbed his collar and pushed her lips on his, pinning him against the wall. Harry gasped in surprise and she used this moment to push her tongue in his mouth.  
  
It was nothing like Harry had imagined his first kiss to be. He had conjured up fantasies about gentle kisses in a romantic setting with a girl he truly loved. Their lips and tongues meeting in a pleasurable dance, both exploring new things.  
  
Instead his first kiss was hard, wet and full of teeth clashing as instinct took over and he tried to kiss her back.  
  
Instinct also told him to put his arms around her waist and close his eyes. He tried to drive his own tongue into her mouth, but she wouldn't let him. Instead of the dance he had imagined, this was a battle for dominance.  
  
She suddenly pulled back, just as unexpected as the kiss itself had been. He groaned, finding he had been enjoying the kiss despite the circumstances.  
  
Blaise threw him a cold look as she straightened her clothes. "Don't make anything out of this, Potter. It doesn't mean a thing; not a thing."  
  
She stalked back to the temporary dormitory, leaving a profoundly confused Harry who couldn't help again noticing she had very nice legs.  
  
A/N If you'd like to be notified of an update, just leave your email address with your review. Remember that reviews are the only payment a fanfiction writer gets.  
  
Traveller 


	21. Chapter XX

Chapter XX  
  
A scarlet locomotive made its way through the British countryside on September first, just like it had for almost one hundred and fifty years prior, each time on that very date. This time it was a dreary day, the first like it since the beginning of summer. Clouds hung low and thick, and the air was moist.  
  
Aboard, amongst their fellow students, were Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, making their way to Hogwarts to start their fifth year. Harry Potter was not with them; it reminded Hermione a bit too much of her second year, when both Harry and Ron had missed the train, but at least this time she knew that no disasters with flying cars were possible. Harry was at Hogwarts. She would be glad when they got there.  
  
She was searching through Hogwarts: A History for any information about the Protectorate Council she had previously missed. It had surprised her that there had been no information given about its reinstatement at the Prefect meeting in the front carriage at the beginning of the trip. As a matter of fact, none of the other students seemed to know anything. If Dumbledore wanted to keep a secret, he was obviously good at it. The only thing that could possibly be related to it was the announcement of a special meeting of all Prefects in the first week with the headmaster.  
  
She had been very proud to be able to board the train at the first carriage, the one reserved for Prefects.  
  
The Head Girl and Boy of that year, Alicia Spinnet and a 7th year Hufflepuff named Gordon Vimes, who was named Head Boy in trust, had given them their instruction and advice about what they could expect. Then a patrol schedule was handed out.  
  
Now, after her rounds she was sitting in a compartment with Ron.  
  
Ron had given up trying to draw her into a conversation. He had learned over the past years that when she had her head in a book it was near to impossible to distract her.  
  
Instead, she saw him throwing desperate glances into the corridor, hoping for new company, while he was apparently re-reading an article in an old Daily Prophet he had brought for Harry.  
  
It was about their friend after all.  
  
The news that Harry had become Dumbledore's apprentice had been exciting. She would have given anything to be in that position.  
  
The subsequent article, one day later, had been the real shock though.  
  
She had read about the Wizard's Council of course. But she had thought it had been irrelevant for a long time and even disbanded more than twenty years ago. There was no mention of it after that date, nothing in any study book, no where to be found in any Ministry publishing or decree. Not that there had been much before then anyway.  
  
And now Harry was going to be one of its foremost members?  
  
Harry was the reason it had not functioned for so long?  
  
The article had been vague, as if it had been written by and for people who had more facts than she had. Research had yielded no new information and Ron had only given her a blank stare, he had been of no use at all.  
  
Oh, how she wished she had still been at The Burrow when the publication arrived so that she could have questioned Mr. or Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Harry had a lot of explaining to do when they met up at Hogwarts.  
  
"We'll find out when we get there, Hermione," Ron said, hoping against reason that she would give up her inquiries. He was trying to get his red-and-gold Prefect badge to shine a bit more, even though he had polished it several times.  
  
"But I don't understand why Harry didn't tell us anything. He must have known something? The article said he was the heir to the Potter seat on the High Council. How could he have not known?"  
  
"Remember first year? You knew more about him than he did himself, probably still do," Ron scoffed, irritated by her behaviour.  
  
"But still, even if so, aren't you curious how the Wizarding World is ruled? I always thought there would be elections to choose a Minister every so often or something of the like, but that article implies a whole different system and I never knew. I never knew, Ron.  
  
I mean, I of course read about the transition from the Wizards' Council to the Ministry of Magic in 1688, and before that the name Potter was mentioned, but I figured it was at best a very distant relation. You think it was one continuing line of Potters? And that they've always..."  
  
"Hermione, you're babbling. I'm sure we'll find out all this from Harry when we see him at Hogwarts," Ron interrupted in an irritated tone.  
  
"But why is the Wizard's Council never mentioned? What does it have to hide?  
  
And aren't you worried about those other articles? They were very unfavourable towards Harry, except for some editorials."  
  
"Hermione, please shut up. I don't know, you don't know, there's no use going on about it. We'll find out at Hogwarts."  
  
"But..."  
  
It was dark and raining when the Hogwarts express pulled into Hogsmeade station. Ron and Hermione had argued most of the way there and the tension between them could be cut by a knife.  
  
Hermione pulled her cloak tightly around her as she stepped into the gentle rain.  
  
The station was only dimly lit and as she looked around for Hagrid she reasoned that even now the Half-Giant would stand out.  
  
"First years over here, please," A vague voice sounded. It was very familiar, but distorted by the rain and the students who were quickly walking past her in the opposite direction, towards the carriages stationed at the front side of the station.  
  
"Quickly, Hermione, we want to get a carriage as soon as possible or we'll be soaking wet," Ron said as he pulled on her arm.  
  
"First years, over here."  
  
"Just a moment, Ron," Hermione answered distractedly. She could see an indistinct human shape, holding a staff with a lantern attached to it, turned towards the rest of the train, the Prefect carriage behind him. The man, for it was a male voice, wore a heavy black cloak with the hood pulled up against the rain.  
  
She started walking towards the figure, still finding the voice familiar and wanting to know where Hagrid was.  
  
"Hermione..." Ron sighed, but he followed her nonetheless.  
  
"First years, over here," said the man again. By this time most of the first years were assembled in front of him, openly staring at the figure.  
  
"Excuse me," Hermione started in a brisk but polite tone, "Could you please tell me where Hagrid is?"  
  
The figure turned around, his cloak falling open as he did so.  
  
Before he could lower his hood she knew who it was, but he looked so different.  
  
He was wearing the armour she knew he had ordered in Diagon Alley, but it was so much more than the letter had ever implied.  
  
Apparently the armourer had not only made him the required upper body armour, but also wrist guards and greaves. The wrist guards, which covered his entire under arms, were decorated with twisting golden dragons, so were the greaves. On his chest was another dragon of the same colour, this one standing proudly upright, roaring fire, just like in the picture in the Daily Prophet.  
  
This all fell into nothingness when he lowered his hood, his face a stage of light and shadow from his lantern. And then she saw his eyes; those green eyes that had always held that spark of life; those eyes that had been so greatly diminished at the end of the previous school year and which had been so dull during his stay at the Burrow... those eyes that now had a roaring flame in them.  
  
It was not the same; it was not like that spark she had known so well, that had been so full of life and laughter, drinking in every moment of happiness as if it was the first. No, this was a flame of determination and... power.  
  
The boy who had been her friend was gone, here stood a man; it had both reduced him and made him more than he had been.  
  
"Hello, Hermione," he said in a quiet voice, a measured smile on his lips, "it's good to see you; you too, Ron. I don't know where Hagrid..."  
  
"What's this?" a sneering voice interrupted from behind her. Hermione spun around to see a familiar but disliked face. "Wearing personal crests is strictly forbidden at Hogwarts, Potter," Draco Malfoy said with a smirk on his face, his eyes glittering in malicious anticipation. Malfoy looked nothing like he had done last year. His pale face was disfigured by a pronounced white scar that ran from his jawline to his hairline just above his right eye and his face was thinner, giving it an unhealthy look.  
  
On his chest was pinned a green-with-silver badge,  
  
"I think Professor Snape will be most interested in hearing about this. He'll probably keep you in detention until you graduate.  
  
And were you just impersonating a teacher? Oh, this will mean expulsion for sure, Potter. I think this is going to be great year after all."  
  
"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron barked, "there is no such rule, is there Hermione?"  
  
"Actually there is, Ron," Hermione said despondently. She turned back to Harry, desperately looking for an explanation.  
  
"It's a sad day when they make a Mudblood and a Weasley Prefects," Malfoy mocked, observing the red and gold badges. "I'm not sure which one is actually worse," the Slytherin continued with an ugly sneer. "And I'm surprised Dumbledore didn't make his Golden Boy Prefect; not good enough, were you, Potter? No Gryffindor badge for you?"  
  
"Malfoy, leave now," Harry said, throwing open his cloak even further, revealing his golden badge with the letter 'P' on it, "You are interfering with my duties as a Proctor. In other words: Sod off."  
  
Harry's attention seemed to leave Malfoy, as if he was of no further consequence. Instead he turned towards Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Go up to the castle, I'll meet you there. I have to take these First Years across the lake.  
  
Hagrid isn't back yet, so Dumbledore asked if I could do this 'little task' for him," he said with a sarcastic grin on his face.  
  
As he turned around and told the First Years to follow him, she could hear them ask them if he was really Harry Potter.  
  
"What the hell is a Proctor?" Malfoy shouted at Harry's back, but was ignored. "Don't you ignore me, Potter. POTTER!"  
  
But Harry ignored the Slytherin and led the First years off the platform. Hermione watched him disappear from sight around the station building. She turned and walked towards the carriages with Ron. Malfoy had apparently retreated, probably unsure of what had just happened, but like a typical Slytherin, not prepared to take a risk without clear gain.  
  
With a wave of his hand Harry commanded the lead boat to start its journey to the castle, the rest would follow. No magic was necessary on his part; it was an element of the boats themselves, a necessity when something was Hagrid's job, Harry reflected.  
  
As Hogwarts came into sight he heard the sounds of awe all around him. He looked up to the castle and tried to see the castle through a First year's eyes; he found that its wonder had not diminished. The torches that burned everywhere in this gloomy night gave it a quality that was hard to describe, but the first thing that came to mind was 'fairytale'.  
  
The boats completed their pre-determined route at the underground docks where Harry and his charges disembarked.  
  
He led them to where he knew Professor McGonagall was waiting for them, listening to the astonished whispers behind him with a smile.  
  
The Deputy Headmistress was standing at the top of the staircase with a stern look on her face that Harry thought was mostly a show for the new students.  
  
"The First years, Professor," he said, mimicking Hagrid's words.  
  
A smile tugged at the lips of his teacher, but she managed to keep a stern look and dismissed Harry with a gesture of her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Potter; I will take them from here. You may go and take your post now."  
  
Harry nodded and walked past her. As he made his way towards the Great Hall he could hear her talking to the First Years.  
  
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room..."  
  
The rest of her speech was too far off for him to hear.  
  
He left his cloak and lantern in the cupboard next to the doors of the Great Hall and then proceeded to open them.  
  
A great murmuring, louder than normal, greeted him and, as he walked in, he could hear the level rise in intensity. He moved towards the High Table at the Gryffindor side of the Hall and saw a great many faces staring at him.  
  
"... Potter is one of 'm too..."  
  
"... seen Zabini...?"  
  
"...What's that on his chest...?"  
  
"...hell is going on...?"  
  
He gave a quick smile as he walked past Ron and Hermione. Hermione returned the smile but Ron was completely distracted by Blaise Zabini who was standing beside the head of the Gryffindor table, fully dressed in her armour, holding her Quarterstaff.  
  
Zabini's armour was different from the rest. When she had come out of the provisional dormitories wearing it, the rest of the Proctor's had been dumbfounded and then riddled her with questions. In a tone that said it was all very obvious she told them that her armour was made according to her own design. The dark blue upper body armour was cut differently; to begin with, it had cleavage, something the other female Proctors were either very derisive of or very jealous, their reactions had varied. Her breastplate was adorned with a beautiful, white coloured Unicorn on the right breast, but unlike Harry's Coat of Arms it was not a part of the armour, but inlaid.  
  
Harry took his place next to the High Table as he threw a few amused glances between the staring Ron and Blaise. But every time he looked at the Slytherin Proctor he could feel a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach.  
  
As he surveyed the Hall he saw that the other Proctors, who where wearing full armour and stationed around the Great Hall, were getting their share of attention as well. Two stood guarding the door, three stood against each wall at the beginning, middle and end of the student tables, and two stood to each side of the High Table.  
  
Closest to him was Cho Chang, who had the post next to him at the High Table, and then Blaise Zabini.  
  
"...read about him and Dumbledore...?"  
  
"...what's with the Dragon...?"  
  
"...you are such a Muggleborn..."  
  
"...looks good in leather..."  
  
Harry was pretty sure that last remark had come from either Lavender or Parvati and had been about him. He was furiously fighting down a blush.  
  
Professor McGonagall chose that moment to lead the first year students into the Hall for which Harry was grateful.  
  
Normally, in the few moments it took her to retrieve Sorting Hat and accompanying stool, a subdued silence would set in, but this year this was not the case; the speculative murmuring continued.  
  
"May I please have quiet?" McGonagall said in a piqued voice.  
  
Slowly a hush fell.  
  
Dumbledore rose from his seat, a first in anyone's memory, he never said anything before the sorting.  
  
"A warm welcome to Hogwart's for our newest students, and welcome back to our old hands," the headmaster said in a ringing voice.  
  
"I know it is has not been my custom to speak before the Sorting, but as you can see, some things have changed. All will be explained after dinner, so I ask your patience."  
  
Murmuring started up again, but soon quieted down when Dumbledore raised his hand.  
  
"For now, we will begin the Sorting Ceremony as it was last preformed 350 years ago."  
  
Dumbledore looked toward the doors. "Mr. Smythe, is the Great Hall secure?"  
  
The 7th year Ravenclaw, by agreement provisional Proctor-Commander until next week's testing, stepped forward and in a formal tone of voice said: "The doors have been locked, the houses are guarded. No intruder has been sighted in Hogwarts. The castle is secure, Headmaster."  
  
"Proceed with the Sorting then," the Headmaster said, nodding to McGonagall.  
  
Immediately the Sorting Hat began.  
  
Gryffindor, with courage to the fore  
  
Hufflepuff, loyal to the last  
  
Ravenclaw, with mind and magic  
  
Slytherin, that cunning may preserve  
  
In times that see peril once more  
  
These old words where spoken  
  
United we must stand  
  
Or the wizarding world might be broken  
  
Danger lurks about  
  
As old becomes new, and new becomes old  
  
The ancient houses stand divided, full of doubt  
  
Will magic bring us salvation, or a grave most cold?  
  
An old hat I might be  
  
Aged and ragged  
  
But even I can see  
  
That war is coming  
  
That war is coming  
  
Who will you follow?  
  
Who will you lead?  
  
Tomorrow may be too late  
  
'Learn now' is thus my creed  
  
Not always easy is the way  
  
How will you make a choice?  
  
On that fateful day  
  
On what you have been taught,  
  
Or on what you have learned?  
  
Now put me on, and let me see  
  
Four houses, one school  
  
Where it is you would best be.  
  
For I know that war is coming  
  
For I know that war is coming  
  
Harry could see the confusion on most faces and the quiet whispers exchanged by the older students. Gone was the funny Sorting Song. The tone of the Sorting Hat was different from normal; the voice sounded grave and the song had sounded like a warning.  
  
"That didn't even rhyme all the way," Ron whispered.  
  
McGonagall, after a moment of uncertainty, turned to her list of names and read off the first one: "Abercrombie, Euan"  
  
"GRYFFINDOR," the Sorting Hat shouted a short moment after the boy had put it on.  
  
The applause seemed a bit more obligatory than normal; most students were too busy talking to each other. Harry didn't really care about the Sorting, not anymore; best not to know any of the students, they might get hurt. He allowed his mind relax and let himself float in his magic.  
  
Vaguely he heard McGonagall say: "Baylor, Jeffrey."  
  
In the recesses of his mind he could hear a faint whisper, as if someone was talking, but he could not understand what was being said. Curious, he delved deeper.  
  
"... not unconditionally loyal enough. Ah, but your mind possesses a sufficient amount of trickiness, better be..."  
  
"SLYTHERIN," he heard the Sorting Hat cry.  
  
His mind returned to the real world with a shock, his eyes flew to the Sorting Hat.  
  
"Bhailcroft, Elizabeth."  
  
Had he heard the Sorting Hat? The words had been consistent, but very short. It was more of an instinct that had led him to the conclusion.  
  
Still he could hear the whispering in a dim corner of his mind.  
  
"Hufflepuff," he whispered, going on the feeling he was getting.  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF," the Hat shouted.  
  
The small girl hopped off her chair, unaware of Harry's surprised look at her.  
  
As she made her way to the Hufflepuff table, McGonagall called out the next name: "Dinton, Samuel."  
  
The boy took his place on the chair and put on the Hat. Harry tried to concentrate on the echoes of whispering he heard within his mind, but again only got a feeling, this time he could name it: Courage.  
  
Gryffindor," he whispered.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR," the Hat shouted.  
  
Harry turned his head to look around the Hall to see if anyone else heard something, but everyone seemed to be either busy greeting First years or talking amongst themselves.  
  
"Ravenclaw," he whispered when the next First year was sitting under the Sorting Hat.  
  
"RAVENCLAW"  
  
"Slytherin."  
  
"SLYTHERIN."  
  
"Hufflepuff."  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF."  
  
On and on it went, Harry placed every student a mere second before the Sorting Hat did until McGonagall called for the last First year: "Zeller, Rose."  
  
Again Harry called it: "Hufflepuff."  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF."  
  
And just like that the sorting ceremony was over.  
  
The Headmaster rose from his seat once more. With a wave from his hand a new table appeared in front of the dais on which the High table rested.  
  
"Mr. Smythe, you may stand down your Proctors," Dumbledore said.  
  
"Stand down," Smythe called, "you may take your place for dinner."  
  
All the Proctors took their place at the new table, facing the hall. Smythe was sitting in the middle, but everyone else just took a seat.  
  
As soon as they had all taken their seat, Dumbledore resumed speaking.  
  
"As curious as I am sure you all are, I am even surer you are all hungry. Tuck in."  
  
A feast appeared on all six tables. Next to Harry's plate the last of his potion vials appeared.  
  
He swallowed it in one gulp, glad he would never have to take it again.  
  
Soon he was eating like there was no tomorrow. The potion always did this to him; he could out eat Ron after one.  
  
As he tore the meat of a chicken leg he noticed both Cho Chang and Blaise Zabini giving him questioning stares, as if they were trying to figure something out about him.  
  
He tried to ignore them and shifted his attention to the Gryffindor table.  
  
He saw Ron and Hermione bickering as usual, George and Fred were obviously plotting something between them. The Creevy brothers seemed to be reading a magazine together while eating and Ginny was chatting with a few girls from her year.  
  
All in all everything seemed to be normal, although he did wish he was sitting between his two best friends instead of at the Proctor table.  
  
As he continued his meal, he and Katie Bell started a conversation on Quidditch, specifically how much they were both looking forward to flying again and what the prospects for a new Keeper were.  
  
As the remnants of dessert disappeared, Dumbledore rose from his seat once more and clapped his hands once. All the tables cleared of leftover food, plates and cutlery.  
  
Quiet descended on the Great Hall, the curiosity at a breaking point for many.  
  
"The last time I spoke to you, I told of the return of our greatest enemy, the one whose name strikes so much fear in most hearts that you do not dare speak his name. I speak of Voldemort," Dumbledore began. The reactions amongst both teachers and students were predictable. Most winced, a few screams could be heard, and one Hufflepuff fell off his chair.  
  
"But fear of a name only increases fear of the thing, so no, I refuse to call him by anything else but his name, although even this is a only a name he assumed.  
  
Hogwarts is safe, even with his return; we, your elders and teachers, have seen to this.  
  
Enchantments have been strengthened, shields enhanced, and we have brought the Protectorate Council back in service," Dumbledore continued his speech.  
  
Harry felt and saw that a lot of people lowered their gaze to look at the table he sat at.  
  
Not knowing what to do with the attention, he focused his eyes on the main doors.  
  
"The Protectorate Council was first instated by the Founders, who discovered that they taught many students from rivalling states, as Great Britain was divided in many lands in that era.  
  
On it were the students who were the very finest Hogwarts had to offer in the areas of Defence Against the Dark Arts, duelling and who had, above all else, a sense of honour and justice.  
  
It was their job to keep the peace amongst rivalling factions and to guard the castle.  
  
In its entire existence Hogwarts has been under siege no less than five times, been the site of countless skirmishes, but each time the council has served with distinction.  
  
350 years ago the council was disbanded, but its charter still exists.  
  
This summer, to aid in our coming battles, I have reinstated it, and have found twelve of our finest students to serve the school. They sit before me," Dumbledore said with a broad introductory gesture of his hand.  
  
"Tomorrow morning you will receive a guide as to how they fit into the new system together with your schedules. For those interested, more about the history of the Protectorate Council can be found in the Hogwarts library. If you have any questions you may address your respective Head of House."  
  
An explosion of talk erupted as soon as Dumbledore sat down. Students started to talk amongst themselves and the most heard word was 'Proctor'.  
  
"Prefects, please guide your houses to your dormitories. Proctors will give escort," McGonagall called above the noise.  
  
With twelve Proctors there were three to a house, but Harry had been fortunate enough to be assigned escort of Gryffindor.  
  
The houses started to rise and he could hear Hermione call out: "First years follow me please."  
  
"Yes, just follow the bossy lady, midgets," Ron said as Harry approached the table.  
  
"RON."  
  
Hermione suddenly turned around to see Harry standing behind her. She smiled and turned back to the First years. "Well, we'll be very safe on our trip. We will be escorted," she told a nervous looking girl.  
  
"But the castle is so dark," the girl said.  
  
"Nonsense, there are torches everywhere and if you like, I'll even light my wand for you," Hermione tried to reassure her.  
  
"But what if You-Know-Who is here?" the little girl almost cried.  
  
Hermione seemed to hesitate but then turned around, grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him forward.  
  
"Well, Simone, this is Harry Potter, and he defeated You-Know-Who once, so he can do it again. Just stay really close to him and you'll be fine."  
  
Big blue eyes looked up at Harry, blinking away the tears, wonder replacing fear.  
  
Hermione pushed the little girl's hand in his and headed off to make sure the other First years knew where to go.  
  
Harry looked down at his hand and then heard Ron give a loud guffaw.  
  
He threw him an irritated look and tried to gently remove his hands from the First year's, but was unsuccessful.  
  
He sighed and decided that the only way to get out of this was to bring the girl to the Common room.  
  
After that he might just kill Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Where are you going, Harry?" Hermione asked after she had gotten all of the First year girls to their dorm.  
  
Harry had just been about to leave, trying to avoid anymore questions from his housemates, but turned around in the entrance.  
  
"I'm going to the Great Hall again. Dumbledore is showing us our dorm. Proctors have their own, you know; because we need to be able to get around the castle quickly it's more centrally located."  
  
"Oh, alright then. I just didn't want you to go out after hours but this is alright. Will... will you be joining us here from time to time?"  
  
"As often as I can. Or you two can visit me in the Proctor common room, I can invite guests, I think. Well, I better be going or I'll be late. Say hi to Ron for me, will you? He's taking awfully long. Goodnight, Hermione," he said, and left.  
  
Dumbledore led them to a corridor that ran along the entrance to the Astronomy Tower.  
  
It was here that he stopped at two suits of armour that were holding their Halberds crossed, as if stopping everyone from passing.  
  
But all they were guarding was a blank wall.  
  
"Arcis tutum."  
  
The two armours sprang to attention and the wall began to open, folding back the bricks.  
  
Dumbledore led them into a relatively small common room.  
  
The room was neutrally decorated, with big leather chairs and couches in brown.  
  
A large fire was crackling in an even larger fireplace.  
  
At the back, opposite the entrance, was a corridor lit by torches.  
  
"You will find that the door to your room has a plaque with your name on it.  
  
Your things have already been brought up. I suggest you go take a look at your new home."  
  
The other Proctors enthusiastically made their way to their rooms, but Dumbledore had put a hand on Harry's shoulder.  
  
When the others were gone, he spoke.  
  
"During the week some mail arrived. I took the liberty of letting Dobby take delivery of it for you. I understand he put in your room. He told me you received some dispatches that are... political in nature. I want you to read them and come see me tomorrow evening."  
  
Harry nodded and walked towards the corridor. "Goodnight, Professor."  
  
"Goodnight, Harry."  
  
He walked past several doors, until he found his room at the end of the corridor to the right hand side, it was marked: HAROLD JAMESON POTTER. The only other door was at the end of the corridor and was marked P.C.  
  
He entered into a fairly large room. The first thing he saw was a little sitting corner, two chairs and a couch. In another corner he saw a standard Hogwarts bed, and a desk next to it.  
  
The bed and desk were covered with envelopes, packages and boxes; the pile was at least three feet high.  
  
"Bugger," was the only thing Harry thought to say.  
  
A/N After numerous requests, I have created a Yahoo group for PtP.  
  
That group will serve as a means to warn people about updates, as well as being the  
  
first place where PtP will be published.  
  
Also, to celebrate the launch of the group the next chapter (that you will not be able to  
  
to find anywhere else for some time) is available there now!  
  
So go Read! Enjoy! Review! At: see profile, as FFnet is childish about links in stories 


	22. Chapter XXI

**Chapter XXI**

"I expect _my_ fiancée to be dutiful and greet me at the train station as she should. You know how embarrassing it was for you not to be there after I told the others you were already at Hogwarts? Something I had to find out from my father, incidentally. And what is this ridiculous getup you're wearing? I do not remember _giving_ you permission for this Proctor business."

Blaise did not bother to turn around. She had escorted Slytherin House back to its dormitory and had been about to leave, already past the wall hanging of the councillor that guarded the entrance, and now she was being accosted by her newly acquired fiancée.

"Just because your father bribed and blackmailed mine into this wedding arrangement this past summer does not mean I have to like it. Nor does it mean that I have to be dutiful until we are married, and until that time I suggest you leave me alone, _dear_," she said in a scathing voice.

She could hear the quick inhale of surprise behind her, but still refused to turn around, not even to see the shock on his face.

"You know that you could hardly expect to do better, there are very few Purebloods with our status.

And I was not pleased with what I heard about you this summer," her fiancée continued. "I had to hex some little twerp that had the audacity to claim he bedded you. He had the nerve to laugh about it in my face. This reflects badly on me. It is your duty to make sure your behaviour is above question, to avoid even the possibility of the implication."

She did not respond, wondering if she shouldn't just walk away. But that would get back to her father and it would mean some form of trouble, even if she did not care very much.

"Well?" he cried out. "At least deny it."

Sod trouble, she thought while she walked away.

"Don't walk away from me; I'm talking to you, Blaise. BLAISE!"

The next day Harry let out a loud yawn while picking at some kippers. He had stayed up late last night, despite his sleepiness, trying to sort the many envelopes, packages and boxes. It had been in vain, though; he hadn't even made a dent.

It was Saturday morning and he had come down for a late breakfast, finding his two friends still waiting for him. Half asleep and not saying very much, he had heaped food on his plate and started eating until he only had his kippers left.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, fine, thank you. I was up later than I had intended. You wouldn't believe the amount of mail that's on my desk. I haven't even gotten through sorting it into type, let alone reading it," he answered without thinking.

"Well, Ron and I could help you this afternoon. And you can tell us all about the last week."

"Yes," Ron said in a bit of a terse voice, "you can tell us all about this Lord Potter stuff."

"You... you know about that?" Harry asked his friends a bit sheepishly.

"Harry, mate, it's been all over the newspaper. You becoming Dumbledore's apprentice, you inheriting the," and now Ron sounded as though he was quoting, "Potter seat on the High Council.

You have some tale to tell."

"... and then he just summoned me before the Wizards' Council. You should have heard Sirius, he was furious," Harry finished the first part of his story.

The three of them were sitting in his room, which Ron had dubbed "Bloody brilliant."

Ron was lying on the couch, lazily reading through a letter. Hermione was at the desk, sorting everything into neat piles.

"But why was Sirius so angry?" Hermione asked.

"I don't really know. Dumbledore kept cutting him off, so Sirius didn't really get to speak his mind, but he clearly thought there was danger."

"But nothing concrete was said? I mean, of course politics present some danger, but how risky can it be? There has to be something more to this," Hermione mused. "If only I knew more..."

"All I can say is that I've been so busy the last week that I've had absolutely no time to think about it," Harry lamented.

"And now with these papers and the coming OWL classes, you'll hardly have much time to spare," Hermione added. "But what I can't stand is that I can't find more than traces of information about the Wizards' Council after the formation of the Ministry of Magic."

"I'm sure Dumbledore will tell Harry when he asks," Ron placated, "and if it really bothers you that much, I'll write my parents and ask them what they know about this whole thing with this council rubbish."

"Harry? I think these boxes are from Gringotts....," Hermione said, completely distracted from what Ron said. She opened the boxes and looked inside. "They seem to be property lists and..." Hermione fell quiet.

"And what, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Dear Lord," she breathed.

"What?" both Ron and Harry asked while quickly moving towards their friend.

"Deeds, account statements, company statements, asset reviews...

It's... so much." Hermione started to go through several sheets. "Look at this," she murmured, "deed to a residential property in London. A statement for a company that owns a large part of the properties in Hogsmeade... dear Lord... Harry, I think you own the Hog's Head... and here... look at this, you have a share in Gringotts itself."

"Bloody Hell," Ron breathed, "I didn't know goblins accepted partners."

"But I don't understand, what is this?" Harry asked, not willing to accept that everything he saw listed on pages upon pages was actually his.

"It's your inheritance, Harry," Hermione surmised.

"But I already have my inheritance, you saw my vault," he protested.

"Well, no, not according to this," Hermione said, holding up a letter from Gringotts.

_Lord Potter,_

_As in accordance with instructions given to us by Sizon, Entwhistle & Weigel we have transferred into your possession the entire Potter estate as held in trust by Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Private Banking Department._

_Subsequently, Vault 687 has been closed and will be once more held in trust for the next heir apparent. Possessions not listed in the original vault inventory have been moved to your personal vault._

_We request that you return the key at your convenience._

_We assure you that Gringott's Wizarding Bank wishes to preserve its long established relation with House Potter and make any and all services and facilities available to you._

_If you have any subsequent questions or instructions, please feel free to contact me or one of my associates at any time._

_With the highest regard,_

_Derag Bloodguard_

_Vice-President, Private Banking_

"What's this Sizon, Entwhistle & Weigel," Ron asked.

"Well, obviously they are some kind of solicitors," Hermione answered.

"Wait, I think I saw a package from them somewhere," Harry said while messily going through several piles.

"Harry! I just organized those," Hermione said, her voice touched with annoyance.

"Hmm, what?" Harry asked while continuing to search. "Oh, sorry," he said, looking at her sheepishly, but not stopping his search. "Ah, I found it."

Harry took out a package with a letter attached to it.

_Lord Potter,_

_We have been informed of your coming of age by the Ministry of Magic Public Records Department and your subsequent claim to your rightful place as Lord of House Potter and hereby recognize it as legitimate unless contested before a full session of the Wizengamot._

_We of Sizon, Entwhistle & Weigel have been entrusted with the guardianship of your family name for the past fourteen years. In the accompanying package you will find your Family signet ring._

_Also enclosed you will find instructions on how to reach the Potter ancestral castle, as no public records of this exist._

_Gringotts Wizarding Bank has been instructed to give you full access to all House Potter's accounts and properties._

_Sizon, Entwhistle & Weigel is at the service of House Potter as it has always been during our 500 year relationship._

_Regards,_

_Pamela Weigel_

_Senior Partner, full Wizengamot council privileges. _

"Wizengamot?" Harry asked.

"The full body of all Magistrates of the law plus the Minister of Magic and several other functionaries," Ron answered, happy to finally know something that Hermione did not. "Dad's testified before them a few times."

Harry turned his attention to the unopened package. After removing the wax sealed paper, a simple golden ring with a flat black stone fell out. He nimbly caught it in his hand and held it up to examine.

It looked old and as if it had seen much use, but the engraving of the seal in the stone was still flawless. It was the same upright dragon as could be seen on the upper body armour that was lying in a corner of his room.

"This is a spelled ring," Harry said before he could really think about it.

The ring drew him. He could feel its magic, could hear the call to slip it on his finger.

"Harry, wait. Maybe you should show it to Dumbledore first," Hermione tried to stop Harry, but he had already put the ring on. It glowed for a brief moment and fitted perfectly.

"Harry, that could have been dangerous," Hermione admonished.

"This ring has been in the possession of my family for countless generations. It is the Potter seal. How could it hurt me?" Harry asked.

"Harry... how do you know that?" Hermione asked.

"Know what?" Harry replied, studying the ring.

"How do you know that the ring has been in your family for so long?"

Harry blinked, looked at her, blinked again, and looked back at the ring, confused.

"I'm... I'm not sure."

"It's the ring itself," Ron said, staring at the ring as well.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"If it's really been in Harry's family for so long, worn by every generation, it will have taken on a magic quality of its own. Not just the spells that are on it, but a deeper... well, memory would be the best word," Ron tried to explain.

"It's been known to happen to old, and I mean really old, magical objects that are used a lot.

My Mum has a set of knitting pins like that; they can almost do the knitting by themselves. They remember how."

Hermione looked at the ring warily. "Well, if you're sure..." She looked like she wanted nothing more than to tell Harry to go to Dumbledore, but didn't dare.

Hermione had sorted all of Harry's letters into categories and had put away the boxes from Gringotts for later.

Harry was intently reading a letter from someone on the Wizards' Council. It was an offer for political support in exchange for use of certain warehouses in London that were his property. The problem was that Harry neither knew who the wizard was, if he did indeed own the warehouses, or even if the offer had any value. Hell, he didn't even know how politics worked in the wizarding world. He really needed to talk to Dumbledore soon.

Hermione was going through a pile of business offers. Apparently, now that Harry was legally of age, a dozen companies wanted his patronage, to use his face, or to publish his story.

Ron was going through letters they had not been able to identify. A lot of them were from random people, speaking for or against him.

"This one supports you, Harry. Says that she hopes you will shake up the Ministry."

Ron opened another letter. "This one's against you; says that anyone that says You-Know-Who is back should be locked up; has a kid at Hogwarts apparently, came home all upset last year."

Ron went through the pile again, trying to find interesting letters. Harry had meanwhile moved on to a letter from the chairman of some subcommittee that wanted to know if Harry was interested in taking up a chair on it when the Wizards' Council was called into session again.

"Hmmm, this one is from Gytha Ogg, says she thinks you are 'a very nice boy', but should not get involved in politics as it is 'not good for the bowels," Ron snorted. "Nutter."

Ron read another letter and stared at it in silence when he was finally done.

"Harry..."

"Hmmm?" Harry answered, trying to concentrate on the letter he was reading.

"Harry...?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"This is a marriage proposal..." Ron said in an incredulous voice.

"A WHAT?" Harry exclaimed, almost falling off his chair. Hermione whipped around with a shocked look on her face.

"A marriage proposal... and it's addressed to you personally."

"Let me see that!" Hermione said, but Harry all but ripped the letter out of Ron's hands. Hermione leaned over his shoulder to read alongside him.

On the top of the letter was a heraldic device. It depicted two sturdy towers connected by a high bridge.

_Lord Potter,_

_Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Constantine Lord DeSage, Master of Two Towers. I am a member of the ruling council of the North-Western European Magical Community._

_It has come to my attention that you have recently legally come of age and are now deemed fit to make your own decisions._

_Therefore I wish to express my interest in the possibility of a marriage between our two Houses._

_I am the father of three girls, aged 8, 15 and 17. I think you will find all three most suitable for marriage._

_All are born of the purest blood, are healthy and capable of birthing heirs._

_I have included pictures of all three._

_In the interest of possible negotiations to this end, I would be willing to visit you, with my daughters, at your convenience._

_With regards,_

_Constantine Lord DeSage_

_Second Tier Member of the North-West European Council_

_Lord of Rotte_

_Master of DeSage Manor and the Two Towers Citadel_

"Bloody hell," Harry said, borrowing one of Ron's catchphrases.

"Oh wow, those two oldest are quite the lookers, Harry," Ron commented, having the pictures in hand.

"This is... he can't be serious," Hermione sputtered. "Harry is much too young for marriage. Besides, this Lord DeSage intends for this to be a political wedding, and Harry can do a lot better in that respect."

Harry turned to Hermione, completely surprised by her words.

"What do you mean, I can do better?"

"Well," Hermione began, "this man is only a Second Tier Lord; that means he isn't terribly important."

Ron and Harry were both staring at her. She seemed to squirm under their looks.

"Harry might be one of the most eligible bachelors in England. Not only is he the Boy-Who-Lived, he has this position and property."

Ron and Harry just continued to stare at her.

"But that's neither here nor there; Harry has more important things to worry about right now than marriage. Let's get back to sorting this mail."

Ron, Hermione and Harry were sitting in Dumbledore's office. Harry had decided to bring his friends along, if only because they had read the half of the letters that he hadn't.

Dumbledore had not objected, but rather, had complimented Harry on his choice of advisors.

They had gone over most of the correspondence that was political in nature, Dumbledore giving advice on most of them. It was incredible how many of the senders he actually knew.

Unfortunately, the most heard advice was to send a polite note and request patience, stating that Harry was going through his affairs at present and would give a more thorough reply as soon as possible.

"Now, I would advise you to find both a seneschal to oversee your estate and someone to run the more practical side of your household. You'll find that it will be growing rapidly. Talk to me in a few days and I may have some recommendations," Dumbledore said. "As for the boxes from Gringotts, I think it a good exercise for you to go through them yourself until you have, in fact, appointed a seneschal."

Harry sighed, remembering the many boxes in his room. He'd have to get someone to do this, no way was he competent enough.

"As you say, sir. I have one last thing to... talk about. I have received... that is to say, there were these letters..." Harry started to stammer, blushing furiously.

"What Harry means to say, Professor," Hermione took over in a brisk voice, "is that he has received several requests for marriage negotiations. I told him he was much too young and should just ignore it, but he wanted your opinion on the matter, sir."

"Oh my," Dumbledore said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, then continued on a more serious note: "A politically expedient marriage has of course always been an effective tool of power, but in this case...."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together; his eyes became distant for a moment, clearly contemplating the situation.

"No, I do not think it wise to enter into any negotiations just yet, but that advice may change as the world does," he said after several moments of thought.

"What should I tell them?" Harry asked.

"Tell them... tell them that I, as your Apprentice Master, find you too young for marriage but that you are honoured by the request and may consider it when I change my mind."

Harry nodded as a knot in his stomach unravelled. Ron had an amused smile and Hermione was grinning, apparently very pleased with the fact that Dumbledore's advice was the same as hers had been.

"If that is all?" Dumbledore asked with a look at Harry, who nodded. "Then I would like a word with Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley about a few Prefect matters. You may go, Harry, I wish to see you after lunch tomorrow. We will go over your classes then."

A bit surprised, Harry said his goodbyes, got up and left the office

"Now, first of all, to make sure I have not lied, I have an announcement about your Prefect status, Mr. Weasley. I think Professor McGonagall has already informed you that you are, in fact, on probation?" Dumbledore asked, looking at Ron over his half-moon spectacles.

Ron, looking quite uncomfortable with the whole situation, gulped and nodded his head.

"The condition on your Prefect status has been set, Mr. Weasley. If you wish to remain a Prefect in the coming years you will obtain a minimum of seven OWLs."

Ron looked shocked but Dumbledore seemed not to notice. Ron turned to look at Hermione, but she seemed to be thinking of other things.

"You said 'to make sure I have not lied', Professor. What is it you really wanted to talk to us about? And why couldn't Harry be here to hear it? Is it about him?" she asked.

"Ah, Ms. Granger, it is always such a pleasure to converse with an observant young witch. Yes, I did want to talk to you two about something else, and yes, it is about your friend."

Dumbledore looked both Hermione and Ron in the eye, a piercing stare underlying the twinkling eyes.

"I wish for you two to observe Harry as closely as possible. Yes, Mr. Weasley, I know," Dumbledore said before Ron could get a word out, "you do not wish to spy on your friend. But I fear it is necessary."

"Why, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Why? Yes, why?" Dumbledore answered, seemingly musing. "I am not sure how much Harry has told you, and I may be breaking a confidence, but I feel it is absolutely necessary."

Dumbledore sighed and continued.

"In order to survive what his Uncle did to him, Harry parted his mind; a great feat of magic, I might add." Dumbledore seemed to be looking for words after that.

"Yes, and it worked," Hermione said in a rather high-pitched voice. "He survived and is alright now."

"No, Ms. Granger, not quite. You see, when Harry parted his mind, he protected the core, that which he holds dearest... the rest he sacrificed."

"Sacrificed?" Ron asked with bated breath.

"Yes, sacrificed. I am afraid that those parts of Harry were driven completely mad."

A/N The next chapter is already available at the link in my author's page.


	23. Chapter XXII

**Chapter XXII**

Harry was up early, especially for a Sunday.

After making use of his private bathroom, one of the better perks of being a Proctor according to Harry, he made his way up the winding stairs of the South Tower.

Dumbledore had insisted Harry do some of the exercises he had taught him on his own every day, and Harry liked the solitude of the top of the windy tower.

Even though it was only the beginning of September, summer was rapidly vanishing and the days were becoming cool, even for this region of Scotland.

Harry, however, refused to let it bother him.

He found that the quiet hour spent on top of the tower doing breathing routines and going through mental exercises cleared his head and helped him to accept the changes that had come into his life.

Sounds started to drift upwards, and when Harry looked over the battlements he could see two figures down below attacking each other with staffs. Apparently, someone took the position of Proctor very seriously.

He was too far up to identify who they were; he could only see that one was a woman because of the long, dark hair. The staffs flashed at each other in an increasing tempo, the figures dancing around each other. Practise, obviously, made perfect, or at least increased skill.

He'd have to look into joining them.

Harry headed towards the Great Hall for a quick breakfast. When he arrived he saw that most of Gryffindor House was present including Fred and George, whose smiles immediately turned into identical grins when they saw him.

Harry thought about running for his life, or at least his dignity, but Hermione had already spotted him and was waving him over to the spot she had saved him.

Fred and George both got up.

"Make way, make way," one of them, probably Fred, started to shout in an affected voice.

"Make way for the Mighty Lord of Potter," George chimed in, the mischievous grin on his face belying the tone of his voice.

"The Boy-Who-Lived," Fred continued, starting to make overstated bows to Harry.

"Member of the Wizards' Council," George said, also performing genuflections.

"Apprentice of the most powerful wizard in the world."

"Defeater of You-Know-Who."

"Slayer of Basilisks."

"Proctor."

"Seeker extraordinaire."

"Wielder of the mighty wand."

"And all around nice guy," they finished together.

With a face as red as it had ever been, Harry took a seat at the breakfast table and waited for the inevitable further teasing, but all he got was a lot of amazed looks: "You defeated a Basilisk?" A third year piped up.

But before he could even begin to diffuse that situation, Colin Creevy squeaked a much, much worse question: "You have a mighty wand?"

"…and breathe out. Remember to keep control as you cast… and cast," Dumbledore's tranquil voice echoed through Harry's consciousness.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" Harry incanted as he swished his wand. The feather in front of him rose swiftly into the air, dancing through the room at Harry's wand movements.

"Very good, Harry, very good. I think we've made our beginning," Dumbledore complimented.

Harry did not allow the generous words to disturb his concentration, he had learned his lesson.

He flicked his wand downwards, directing the feather back to the floor.

"In time, your mind will learn enough discipline that you will not have to concentrate this much, but will return to your previous levels. I do think you will have to learn how to exactly level the power you put into a spell, something you would have been taught in your sixth year anyway, it will just come earlier."

When Harry finally released the feather from his gaze and moved his eyes towards Dumbledore, he saw that the wizened wizard was already at his desk. Harry could still be amazed at how swift and silent the old man could move.

"Take a seat, Harry. I wanted to talk to you about the courses you'll be taking this year."

Harry took a seat in front of the massive desk, its surface cluttered with a mass of papers.

Dumbledore, however, didn't seem to hesitate for a second and pulled a sheet from out of the middle of a particularly precariously balanced stack.

"You are, of course, taking the mandatory courses: Transfiguration, Charms, Defence against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic and Astronomy. You seem to be doing better than average in everything except Potions and History of Magic, although not exceptional.

Most of your teachers have noted that you seem not to fully apply yourself and that there is room for much improvement, not that I blame you, not many wish to apply themselves to study at your age… outside of Ravenclaw that is.

Although, Remus was very complimentary of your exploits in Defence Against the Dark Arts. We'll just leave out the comments that Severus made, shall we?

Now, your electives are Care of Magical Creatures and Divination." Dumbledore looked up over his moon shaped spectacles after mentioning that last course.

"Tell me Harry, why did you select Divination?"

Harry looked at his shoes, flushing red. "Because…," he steeled himself and blurted out "because Ron said it'd be an easy mark."

"Well, I'm very happy to hear that," Dumbledore answered to Harry's surprise. "I feared that you might believe in learning actual divination. It is an art not easily learned except for those very few already gifted. I do not think any now residing at Hogwarts have the ability to learn… Although…," Dumbledore murmured medatively.

He then seemed to return to the present and continued.

"You'll continue following your mandatory courses, of course. As for your electives…, I'm introducing some new studies into your program.

I will be tutoring you, when I can, in control of your magic and your magical mandatory courses as well as some other things that are not on the Hogwarts Standard Comprehensive Curriculum as I promised you when you agreed to become my apprentice.

I will see if I can get someone to tutor you in History of Magic; because, Harry, your grades are not what they should be. There will be a special part of that tutoring concentrating on the History of House Potter, the History of the Wizards' Council, and the Secret Histories, those that have been locked away and restricted."

Harry's curiosity was immediately piqued. Secret Histories? He'd bet his broom there would be a lot less Goblin Rebellions in that. But why were they secret?

"Furthermore, I think we can not get an early enough start on teaching you the intricacies of politics in the magical world. I had hoped you would be older when this day arrived, that we would have more time, but the resurrection of Voldemort has forced my hand once more.

You'll need a lot of background information first; I'll see if I can find someone who can tutor you in that. Yes, I might have some ideas in that area."

Harry had half expected, half feared most of these things.

Expected, because he was beginning to see glimpses of how his life had changed; and what was in his future, what more would change. Feared, because he had no idea how he was going to fit it all into his schedule without losing sleep.

"You'll have to drop Divination. I'm afraid there is little other choice. I leave the choice of keeping Care of Magical Creatures to you, although I would advise you to drop it.

I'm sure we can find a way around the loss of those two OWLS; maybe we can have you do a few exams in other, non-standard subjects. That should be possible to arrange with enough commitment from your side. "

Dumbledore fixed Harry with a stern gaze. Harry swallowed, and nodded his understanding of the importance of this point.

After being satisfied, Dumbledore nodded back and rose from his desk in one fluent movement and headed towards the door, signalling Harry to follow him.

As Harry and Professor Dumbledore walked through the hallways of Hogwarts they passed several students who all stared after them. It made Harry conscious of the fact that yet another thing was added to the list of things that drew attention to him and made him stand out.

As they moved down stairs and corridors there seemed to be less and less students walking the hallways, and as they entered an older looking part of Hogwarts, none were to be seen at all.

The two entered a room that seemed to be even older, or at least even more run down, than the rest of this section of the castle. It was much longer than it was wide and seemingly darker at the end.

"This section of the castle is amongst the oldest and is beyond some of the newer wards. This particular room is built right into the bedrock on which the castle lies. Simply put, a blind dragon couldn't do much damage in this room."

Harry could see that the far side of the room was indeed sheer rock. It looked as if it had been hollowed with explosions in some places and had melted away in others. It was also scorched, even if the black soot had faded and was partly overgrown with mould.

On his left, built into the wall, was a large fireplace.

Harry shivered slightly. The room was cold and damp. Harry wondered why Dumbledore did not light the fireplace.

He considered doing it himself, but he had recently noticed that if there were older wizards and witches in the company, spells were either left to the host, or the more powerful witch or wizard.

"Harry, I am going to teach you something new today.

This room was used in times past to teach some of the practical application of the Dark Arts. I will not teach you those, although some things I will teach you are considered Dark by those who have neither knowledge nor understanding.

I will teach you Wizard's Fire."

Ever since Dumbledore had mentioned this ominous sounding spell, Harry had been curious. He couldn't remember ever hearing a reference to it.

As Dumbledore set about drawing a simple chair and stool out of thin air, he continued to explain.

"Wizard's Fire can be very destructive. It is not like any fire you have ever seen, not even the magical fire you learned in your second year holds a candle to this. Wizard's Fire is gifted with purpose, gifted by the wizard that creates it. Wizard's Fire has been said to have a soul all of itself and it will seek out its target with a vengeance, its only purpose is to destroy.

Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore said with a wave at the stool while he himself sat in the chair.

"Normally, I would not teach this to a young wizard, not even you. Preferably I would not even teach it to an old wizard either. But as is often the case in life an exception has to be made. I think it will have added benefits for you; you will find out what, later," the Headmaster said before Harry could ask.

Dumbledore's eyes took on a very serious demeanour and the shadows around him seemed to darken, the magic around the old wizard became more palpable. "Let me warn you of the consequences of misusing Wizard's Fire. I have seen it used on human beings but twice in my life and would never wish to see it again. It is a terrible thing to behold; Wizard's Fire can eat through wood, through thick stone walls, even through metal. If brought into contact with flesh, even if only a smallest of sparks, it will ultimately consume the entire person: skin, muscle and bones.

It cannot be doused by normal means, not water, not earth; nothing can stop it, _because it has a purpose_."

Harry nodded, caught up in Dumbledore's words.

"Wizard's Fire is not cast with a wand; it is a manifestation from deep inside the wizard. Keep your hands up, about a foot apart. Like that, good. Now, lose yourself in my eyes," Dumbledore said in a voice that had a definite magical quality.

Harry looked into the Headmaster's light blue eyes and felt himself fall deeply.

"I want you to put anger into it. Remember Voldemort… remember Vernon Dursley… what they did to you. Imagine what you would like to do to them, let it all go. Remember the anger, the rage. Feel that anger, feel its _heat_. Feel its consuming flames. Now, channel those flames into the space between your hands. … Now… look between your hands," Dumbledore whispered in an urgent and commanding voice.

Harry looked down and to his amazement saw a ball of yellow and blue fire circling lazily between his hands. He could feel warmth, but not heat.

"Now," Dumbledore, said in the same voice, "throw it into the fire place."

Harry pulled back his hand and with one fell move hurled the ball of fire into the fire place.

It hit the back with a crack, leaving a few flames behind. The room seemed to warm up instantly.

"Was that Wizard's Fire?" He asked in awe.

"That, my dear boy, was to Wizard's Fire what an annoyed fly is to an angry bull," Dumbledore chuckled. "But you threw it like a natural. We'll make a wizard out of you yet."

Then Dumbledore gave Harry a searching look. "How do you feel? And I want you to really think about that question."

Harry had been about to give an obligatory 'fine', but stopped at Dumbledore's request.

"I feel… better… less… stressed and angry? As well as more energetic I think," he said in a puzzled voice.

"The second is easier to explain than the first. With what you have just done, you have flushed most of the residue form the wards I placed on you at The Burrow out of your system; you should now have full access to your magic again, except for those restrictions I place on it through our bond."

Harry smiled as he understood. He felt more complete than he had in weeks.

"As for the first… look at it like this: sometimes you have the need to hit something, if only a wall or a door. This is like that, too; with the way your emotions and magic are interconnected you need to hit something from time to time in a magical sense."

"So are you telling me I should control it… or that when I feel like hitting something, I should hit it?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"We have urges for a reason, Harry; we also have our rational mind. Living is a question of balancing the two and knowing when to follow which. This room is where you can give into those urges from time to time," Dumbledore said with a small smile tugging at his lips.

"After you learn to do what you just did on your own, you can come down here anytime to practise or give into hitting something. There is one restriction though; you may _never_ bring anyone here. Wizard's Fire is just too dangerous."

"I understand," Harry said and nodded.

"Do you, Harry? Do you really?" And with those words Dumbledore held his hands about two feet apart and Harry saw a small ball of fire spring to life.

The ball of yellow fire grew larger and began to spin at an increasing pace creating a howling noise. As it grew, first as large as a dog, then to the size of a small horse and the howling became painfully deafening, Harry looked away and covered his ears. Then, just as Harry looked back, Dumbledore pushed it away with an angry grunt and directed it to the far wall.

As the ball of Wizard's Fire hit the far wall it burst open and spread along almost the entire wall. Harry could feel the immense heat and his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the explosion; he saw that the mould had been evaporated instantaneously, and the rapidly disappearing fire was now eating away part of the bedrock, it was that hot.

"Maybe now you understand," Dumbledore said with a slight pant, "Wizard's Fire is always cast in anger."

Harry made his way up to the Proctor dormitories, determined to lie in a hot bath until dinner.

Dumbledore had him cast Wizard's Fire again and again, until he could do it without help, even if barely more than a spark appeared. It had taken hours, they had even skipped lunch. He was exhausted. Maybe he would just skip dinner too, or just sneak down to the kitchens and eat alone.

As he walked in, most of the others were sitting around or strapping on the last of their armour. His own armour was lying on one of the tables.

"Potter, finally. Get into your gear," Smythe said in a hurried voice, "We just got word from McGonagall. The two new teachers are arriving tonight instead of tomorrow morning. They're throwing together a feast as we speak and we're supposed to show up in armour."

As the Ravenclaw and provisional commander of the Protectorate Council spoke, several of the other Proctors were already clasping on Harry's armour. He became very distracted when the person behind him softly spoke into his ear: "Always making a grand entrance, aren't you, Potter? Been off defeating another Dark Lord, were you? Or were you wrestling a ghoul? You sure smell like it."

It was not the words or the scathing tone that distracted him so much, as it was the fact that Blaise had whispered the words very close to him, her breath tickling his ear and neck.

In less than no time Harry was fully suited and the Proctors made their way to the Great Hall.

Most of the students were already there, excited about the impromptu feast, the second in as many days.

As he walked past his friends, who looked at him questioningly, he gave them a small smile.

He took his position just in time to see the doors to the Great Hall swing open and two witches enter.

Both were clad in very loose grey robes with pulled up hoods.

As they walked up to the High Table he briefly saw their faces.

One was tall and had a pretty face and he could see strands of blond hair. She had an optimistic if somewhat sedate smile, quite different from the woman next to her. Her eyes sparkled and seemed to look curiously at the world. She was the younger of the two by far.

The other woman was significantly smaller and wore a seemingly permanent grim expression on her plain face, the small wiry glasses she wore only contributed to this appearance. Harry thought that when the searching eyes of the older woman saw him, or rather the coat of arms on his chest, her face became even grimmer and her mouth curled up in disapproval.

Both stopped short of the Proctor table, which was empty, and looked up to Dumbledore.

"May the light shine upon you, Professor Dumbledore, and bless your school. We came early as an unexpected high tide forced us to leave ahead of schedule. We are ready to serve this school and spread the Guiding Light," the elder spoke as both witches made slight, formal bows

The Headmaster stood and made a gesture to the two empty chairs at the High Table.

"Please be seated. If you'll allow me, I'll introduce you to my eagerly curious students."

Both witches nodded and took their seats in silence. Dumbledore turned to the Hall.

"It is my pleasure to introduce the two newest additions to our teaching staff.

As it was very difficult to find someone to fill the Defence against the Dark Arts position, the Ministry was kind enough to offer and negotiate for the services of Sister Fiona Ellbridge of the Order of the Sisters of the Guiding Light.

As Hagrid's return has been postponed, her apprentice, Desiree Eravi has kindly offered to fill in for him."

A polite applause sounded from the students in the Hall. As Professor Dumbledore was about to give the signal to start the feast, Sister Fiona rose from her chair and with another shallow bow to Dumbledore asked: "Professor, would you allow me to address the students?"

Dumbledore, obviously surprised, sat down and waved his acquiescence.

Sister Fiona turned back towards the Great Hall and in a clear voice that reached all corners of the room spoke: "The Sisters of the Guiding Light have long not been amongst those not of our Order. In light of recent events, our Abbess decided to agree to the Ministry's request for teachers.

I will strive to teach you as much as I can, and so will my apprentice. However, knowledge without wisdom is dangerous, and we will not only teach you spells and facts.

We will teach you the Path of the Guiding Light, a path all wizards and witches should follow. Society has lost it moral compass. But I fervently hope that it may not be too late for the young to learn the proper path.

Not only will we be teachers, we will be spiritual guides, and any and all in need of guidance, blessing or prayer, are free to see either of us at any time. Our offices, indeed our very quarters are open to you.

May the Guiding Light may shine on all here present."

A quiet and confused mutter sounded as Sister Fiona sat down again, but all Harry could see was Hermione's disapproving face.

A/N If you would like to be informed of the next update, sign up for my Yahoogroup. The address can be found in my profile. The next chapter of Path to Power is available there right now.


	24. Chapter XXIII

**Chapter XXIII**

Harry woke up with what seemed like all the muscles in his body cramped.

He had fallen asleep sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace of the Proctor Common room. He vaguely remembered restless sleep and agitated dreams, but could not remember what they had been about.

After spending the evening in Gryffindor Tower with his friends, whose behaviour could be called odd and circumspect at best, he had come back here. Unable to get to sleep, he had sat in front of the fire, pondering.

Besides a tendency to mother him even worse than usual, Hermione had been decidedly unhappy about the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher.

She had gone off about the fallacies of religion and the reasons for banning it from a classroom without appeal.

When one of the fourth years had irritably said that the Path of the Guiding Light was a very worthy belief, and that she would do good to learn before she judged, Hermione had torn into him with a vengeance. She cited philosopher after philosopher, using their musings as her weapons and lectured the various dangers coming with the particular practise of teaching any kind of belief in a schoolroom instead of facts. She had almost brought the boy to tears when she ended on the particularly vicious note that "God is dead" which sounded like another quote.

Harry had his doubts about the seriousness of her arguments, but had to admire the fire with which she preached her own form of gospel. Most of her arguments had been logical as far as Harry could follow and deduce, although he doubted some of the facts she had claimed, finding them too extreme to be likely. The quote 'give them to me while they're young, and I'll have them for life' seemed a bit far fetched; Harry couldn't really imagine anyone thinking like that… only after a while, he realised he probably easily could.

He walked to his room, trying to get the blood flowing in his painful limbs again. A quick shower brought relief as the heat from the water seeped into his muscles. He dressed, not really paying attention to what he was wearing, but grabbing the first thing at hand.

He left his room at the same time as Howard Everard, the 7th Gryffindor Proctor.

"Morning, Potter. Ready for another year at Hogwarts?"

"Ready for your last year then?" Harry asked back.

"Merlin, don't remind me. I don't know what I hate more, the idea of NEWTs or actually leaving this place afterwards."

They walked down to breakfast, talking about what they loved about Hogwarts. Everard was one of those people you couldn't help but like, with an infectious smile and a wicked sense of humour.

Hermione was already sitting at the Gryffindor table and Harry joined her, forgoing the Proctor table.

"I don't know how they're going to get Ron out of bed," Hermione said, munching on some toast between conversation, "now that you're not there to wake him up."

"Speak of the devil," Harry answered and pointed to the main doors.

Ron was being brought in, apparently still asleep, by Seamus and Dean. They half dragged, half carried him towards the Gryffindor table where they dropped him onto the bench opposite his two friends where the redhead continued his sleep.

"Oh, really," Hermione huffed, "I know he's a sound sleeper, but this is ridiculous."

"You're not kidding," Dean said, "I swear he didn't open his eyes between the time we dragged him out of bed and pushed him into the showers until he came back and fell back on his bed."

"He has classes in twenty minutes, he still has to eat," Hermione said while looking at Ron exasperated. "How did you get him to wake up, Harry?"

"Simple," Harry said with a smile twitching at his lips. He bent forward towards Ron. "Ron, hey Ron… _food_."

"Food?" Ron said with a snort as he immediately woke up.

"How'd I get here?" he asked confused. He did not wait for an answer though and ignored the people around him laughing. With a happy smile he started loading food on his plate.

Ron was staring at his roster in shock. "They have got to be kidding, double Potions on Friday afternoon? Please tell me this is a joke?" he said, looking up pleadingly at Harry and Hermione.

"Sorry Ron, it's real," Harry said while studying his own schedule. Divination had been removed and a quick look on Ron's parchment told him that those periods had been filled in with an 'extra-curricular studies' notation, and Care of Magical Creatures had been noted as an optional class for him.

"Well, at least Wednesday morning promises to be easy," Ron muttered, "History of Magic to start with, followed by Divination, also known as sleeping in and telling fairytales. Aren't we lucky, mate," he said to Harry.

"Well…I…," Harry muttered, an embarrassed half grin on his face.

Hermione's head flew up immediately upon hearing his tone of voice. "You did it, didn't you?" she asked breathlessly.

Both Ron and Harry looked at her, confused.

"Did what?" Harry asked, almost happy for the distraction.

"You finally did it; you dropped Divination, didn't you? I've been waiting for more than a year now for you to wise up, and you finally did it. Oh Harry, what did you take instead? Arithmancy? It'd be hard, but I bet you could catch up if you apply yourself," she blurted out in a breathless rant until at the end her face dropped considerably and she asked in an urgent tone: "You did drop it, didn't you, Harry?"

"Well…"

"Oh bloody hell, don't tell me I have to sit in that old goat's class by myself," Ron exclaimed.

"If you had just wised up like Harry here, you wouldn't have a problem right now, would you?" Hermione interrupted him. "You could have taken up a useful course; Muggle studies would have been good for you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked indignantly. "Are you implying that I don't know enough about Muggles?"

"I'm not implying anything, I'm telling you," Hermione answered him sharply. "What you know of Muggles couldn't even fill a teaspoon."

"Are you calling me stupid?" Ron said raising his voice.

"Not stupid, just ignorant," Hermione said just as loud, her eyes blazing with anger.

"BOSSY KNOW-IT-ALL."

"IGNORANT LOUT."

And before Harry could do anything to calm them down his two friends had both stormed off, still shouting at each other until they separated after leaving the Great Hall.

He looked around the Gryffindor Table, a bit bemused, and saw many of his housemates looking back, all of them somewhere between amused and exasperated.

Unexpectedly, a silky sneering voice said behind him "Inform your friends that they have lost Gryffindor ten points each for shouting in the Great Hall, Potter," and then in a more hushed tone so that only he could hear, "The Headmaster wishes to see you after classes, report to his office." The voice carried an infinite amount of disgust while it delivered its message.

Snape.

"Welcome to fifth year Transfiguration," McGonagall said immediately upon walking into the classroom. "I assure you this will be your hardest class this year. You will master various new techniques as well as revise everything you have learned so far in order to take your OWL exam. I hope I do not have to tell you how very important OWLs are, as they determine not only your further academic career, but also have great bearing on your career in life.

Depending on your score, you will be allowed to follow Advanced Transfiguration next year. I do however warn you that I require a minimum score of Exceeds Expectations. You will be able to find the grading curve on the pamphlet I will distribute at the end of class."

The stern teacher sat down behind her desk, adjusted her glasses, and continued rapidly speaking. "Please take out parchment and quill. I will dictate a rough schedule for the coming month. We will be revising elementary Transfiguration followed by our first new subject, namely Vanishing. After that…

"Alright students, attention please. I'm happy to see you all back for an exciting year of Herbology studies. I hope you all realise that this class will indeed be the most difficult of all your OWL classes. I take it you have by now all read the information on OWLs and I can tell you that if you want to participate in the NEWT course of this class, you will need at least an Exceeds Expectation for your OWL exam although individual students can be up for special consideration.

Now, Neville, if you would be so kind as to…"

At lunch the fifth year was very subdued. The talk at the Gryffindor table was mainly dominated by one topic of conversation.

"Can you believe how much work they've given us already? And we're only just past the first half of the day," Dean sighed.

"I got a cramp in my hand from just writing down McGonagall's list," Ron put in, meanwhile flexing his hand.

"Just kill me now," Seamus agreed.

"Well, it's not all that bad," Hermione answered in a chipper voice. "We have a fairly decent grounding from the previous four years to build the new subjects on, so if you studied well, you shouldn't have any problems."

"I agree with Seamus," Lavender muttered, her head leaned against the tabletop, "just kill me now."

At the end of an afternoon filled with more admonishments about how important OWLs were, long lists of work to be done, and even more talk of OWLs, Harry was ready for sleep, even if he had to miss dinner. Unfortunately, he had to make his way up to the Headmaster's office.

As he walked up to the Gargoyle, he became aware of a strange sensation, as if he could have pointed out exactly where Professor Dumbledore was at that very moment. Something very similar had happened during the Apprenticing Ceremony, although this was considerably weaker.

The Gargoyle sprung to life, even before he could give the password. Too tired to really try and figure it out, Harry rode the moving staircase upwards, happy for the rest. Once again the portraits in the staircase were talking amongst themselves; some even greeted him.

He politely knocked on the inner door.

"Come in," the muffled voice of the Headmaster sounded.

As Harry walked in, Dumbledore looked up over his half-moon shaped glasses and Harry was sure he saw a flicker of surprise and amusement.

"Harry, my boy, have my passwords become that easy for you to figure out? Because if I know our forgetful Professor Snape, he did not give it to you, for in fact, he did not ask me for it."

"No, Sir," Harry answered, a bit puzzled. "When I arrived the Gargoyle let me enter without a password."

"It did, now did it? Oh my," Dumbledore said in a tone that suggested that he was trying to figure something out.

More than a minute passed and Harry was beginning to feel a tad uncomfortable being under the Headmaster's scrutiny without being asked any question.

"Ah," Dumbledore exclaimed, "I think I have the answer. I should have anticipated this, but alas, an old man cannot keep track of everything."

Harry almost snorted out his amusement as he was quite sure that Dumbledore did indeed keep track of almost everything that happened at Hogwarts, but just sometimes chose not reveal it. Of course, there were always things that could slip by him and he could be fooled; he knew only to well that the wizened old wizard was far from perfect.

"Then what is it, Sir?" Harry asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. It's the apprentice bond, my boy. Well, it's the apprentice bond and my bond with Hogwarts actually.

You see, every Headmaster is bonded to Hogwarts, part of its magic as it were. Because you are now my apprentice and our magic is linked, a part of my bond with Hogwarts must have trickled down to you, or the castle recognizes you as being bonded to me at the very least. How very fascinating."

For a moment Professor Dumbledore seemed to be staring out into space, then he came back to his senses.

"Hmm, yes, well. Why did I ask you to come here? Oh yes. I wanted to discuss your schedule further.

I estimate that it will take at least another three to five weeks before you can begin to cast magic beyond the simplest of things without my direct presence and help.

Therefore you will not be able to do anything on the practical side of learning in normal lessons.

What we will do is simple; during your classes you will study the theoretical material unless otherwise directed by your teachers. You will learn it and remember it. At the end of every day we will try to work through the practical side of your lessons together. I hope you understand that this will not always be possible every day, so we might have to work on weekends as well. I'm sorry for that, but I do hope you appreciate that with things being as they are, my attention is often demanded elsewhere."

"Yes, Sir. I wanted to ask you about that… how are things… out there?" Harry tentatively asked. It was strange, he had not wanted to ask these questions until yesterday afternoon, after his lesson with Dumbledore, but he had been too exhausted then. What was it that Dumbledore had said? That the lesson had burned away the last of the wards placed on him?

His train of thought was interrupted by the Headmaster's sigh. "If only we knew. We're trying to find out what Voldemort is doing and so far we have discovered a lot of his seemingly smaller operations; recruitment, blackmail, spying; nothing too overt yet, he's keeping a low profile. We saw this at the beginning of his first rise as well, although we didn't recognize it as such at the time.

The thing that bothers me is that we know he's doing something else, something bigger, but we can't seem to get near that particular project. He seems to be a lot more subtle this time around."

"And what is the Ministry doing? Have they warned people? Are they hunting Voldemort?"

"I'm afraid Minister Fudge is still quite adamant in his denial of Voldemort's return. In fact, he is leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to mention anything of the sort," Dumbledore sighed. "The fact that Voldemort has done nothing to arouse the suspicion of the general public isn't helpful in that regard, although I think it would be a strange thing to hope for something noticeable."

"What? Why? How can they not…" Harry sputtered, too surprised and angry to express what he wanted to say.

"Minister Fudge sees any attempts at informing the public as an undermining of his authority. I'm not even sure if he believes we are lying -and yes, I do mean we, he has been just as slighting towards you as he has been towards me- or, even worse, believes us, but has chosen a most dangerous course of denial."

"But you are warning people, right? People need to know, Professor, they have to prepare themselves," Harry pleaded.

"Yes, we are warning people, Harry, but only small groups and individuals.

There isn't a large publication out there that doesn't have Minister Fudge leaning heavily on them to not repeat anything we say, or investigate the few shreds of evidence that are out there.

The saddest part of all is that I have had more than a few letters from parents of students. My warning to your fellow students last year was met with anger, fright and denial."

"But they have to know…"

Dumbledore held up his hand to forestall the rest of Harry's comment.

"I know, my boy, I know. But the fact is that our world is not ready for the truth. The only reaction would be fear and rejection; perhaps even aggression towards those who bring them this dark message.

People are, sadly enough, completely capable of denying that which they do not wish to be true with a vigour I wish they would apply to other things."

"But what are we going to do then?" Harry asked, frustrated.

"For now, we work behind the scenes. Warning those that need to know and can make a contribution, and we prepare the public. We spoon feed them the truth bit by bit."

"But that will take too long," Harry said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Still, it is the best we can do for now."

"I know I'm only a student, Professor, but if there is anything I can do…

Well, let's just say I've got a feeling that Voldemort does not think highly of me."

"Your offer is greater than you think, Harry. Remember that you are Lord Potter now, and as such have a substantial amount of recourses at your disposal, not to mention that in time you will have influence."

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, then sighed.

"As much as I dislike doing this, it might be important to take you up on your offer. You'll need to build up that influence though. In the long run, I still think the Wizards' Council is our best chance. "

Dumbledore again seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts. As Harry sat there he was a bit surprised, he had never seen the Headmaster think out things so carefully.

"A date has been set for the first gathering of the Wizards' Council. December 21, the winter solstice to be exact. As a candidate member you have a right to be there and I think it might be a good idea to attend if only to make sure that people are fully aware that the House of Potter once again has a ruler.

That means we have approximately three and a half months to make sure you know what to do with any circumstance that may occur.

I have selected a number of tutors for you that will instruct you in a number of different fields, all are diverse, and all are important.

Put on top of the imperative need for you to learn to control your magic, I doubt you will have much free time… I feel I can not tell you to do this, although it would be in my right, but I do ask you; are you willing?"

Harry looked Dumbledore in the eye and the Headmaster returned his gaze frankly.

The bright blue eyes contained no malice, but for the first time Harry could see the pressure and burdens under which the old wizard worked.

"I'll do what is necessary."

Harry sat behind his desk in the quiet of his own room.

Dumbledore and he had made a list for the coming months. Magic, politics, etiquette, heraldry, his duties as a Proctor, Quidditch, normal school lessons… the list seemed endless.

They had been about to outline a day to day schedule when the head of a man Harry did not know had appeared in the fireplace, urgently calling for the Headmaster.

The old wizard had requested Harry try to make the schedule himself and Harry was attempting to, but a large part of the problem was that he did not know who half his teachers would be for the outer-curricular lessons. He had no idea how to find out when to place those lessons.

Even if he had, it didn't seem like there was enough time in one day, week, or month.

Frustrated, he threw down his quill. He massaged his temples and desperately wished for a drink.

Pacing up and down his room a few times, he reached a decision.

He opened his closet and randomly picked out a cloak and thick sweater. Gregory and his House-elves had been producing a steady stream of clothing, so Harry had enough to choose from. All of it was black, as he had ordered, but a lot of it also had small decorations on it; mostly the Potter Crest or a variation on it.

After considering for a moment he pinned on his Proctor badge and left his room, briskly walking towards the exit of the common room.

"Where you going, Potter?" Katie Bell asked in a friendly tone. She was sitting in one of the large comfortable seats next to the fireplace.

"I need some air, you wouldn't believe the amount of work Dumbledore is making me do," Harry only half lied.

"Okay, but don't make it too late. I think I heard Angelina say something about a team meeting after class tomorrow. She's been made captain."

"Good for her. I'll remember," Harry replied as he walked past the two suits of armour at the exit.

He made a straight line towards the main doors. As he walked through the entrance hall he was surprised by a voice calling after him "Hey, Harry, where are you going?"

"Ron! Bloody hell, what are you trying to do? Kill me? I think you just scared a couple of years off my life."

"Sorry, mate, didn't mean it that way," Ron said with a big grin.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Harry asked.

"Patrolling, one of the many duties that come with the wonderful position of being a Prefect," Ron said with a sarcastic bite. "You're not armoured up and I just saw Pereson making his rounds, so where are you going?" Ron asked interestedly.

Harry considered lying for a moment, but didn't feel like it, not to his best friend, not with their already strained relationship. He looked about for a moment to make sure no one was around and then dragged Ron off to a corner.

"I have to get out of here, Ron. Just for a couple of hours. You understand, don't you?" he said with a desperate note.

Ron looked at him strangely for a moment. "Where are you going?"

"Hogsmeade, just for a couple of hours."

"Alright, let's go," Ron said with another one of his big grins.

"What?"

"Well, you didn't think I'd let you go alone, did you? What kind of friend would I be if I let you go to _our_ first night visit to Hogsmeade by yourself?"

"What about your patrol?"

"This was my last stop; I was going back to the tower after this. Hermione is still acting all prickly around me, so I doubt anyone would miss me."

"Alright then, what are we waiting for?" Harry asked with his first real smile in some time.

The two boys left Hogwarts through the front door and walked right out the front gate, something not even George and Fred had tried; but of course, they were neither Prefect nor Proctor.

Hogsmeade looked different in the darkness of night.

The street was only illuminated slightly by the moon, stars and candlelight that shone through the windows of houses and stores that were still opened. The streets were quiet and only a few people could be seen walking, usually in a hurry.

"Where are we going?" Ron asked.

"I need a drink," Harry grumbled.

"Butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks then?"

"No, Madam Rosmerta knows our faces. I'm not sure what she'd do if she saw Hogwarts students at this time of night."

"Fred and George said they go to the Hog's Head when they sneak out at night. A bit of a rough crowd according to them, but nobody asks questions."

"The Hog's Head it is then," Harry said and started walking towards the far end of town.

As they walked up the side street on which the smaller inn was located they could hear muffled sounds of people talking loudly, breaking glass, and music that seemed to come from a hundred year old radio.

They came upon a slightly rundown building with a sign hanging from it. Upon the signboard was a picture of the severed head of a wild boar, leaking blood on a white cloth around it.

"This must be it then," Harry said.

Ron suddenly seemed quite unsure of the wisdom of entering an establishment with such a sign at that time of night. "Are you sure you want to go in there?" he asked.

After a moment, Harry nodded, and pushed open the door. Ron followed.

As they entered the inn, no one seemed to pay them any attention. There was only one room. In it was a bar and several tables. The people there seemed to be drinking heavily and the drinks were as varied as the patrons themselves. There was only one bartender, a grumpy looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard.

He looked at the two boys suspiciously but his entire expression changed as they took of their cloaks.

"Welcome to the Hog's Head, young Masters," the man said with a gruff voice. "We don't get many Hogwarts students, but they're welcome. Especially the likes of you," he said with a respectful nod to Harry. "What will it be? Something to warm you up on this chilly night?"

"A Butterbeer would be good," Ron said.

"Butterbeer?" the bartender asked with a perplexed expression. He turned around and scanned the bar twice before opening a small cabinet at the far end.

"One Butterbeer," he said, saying 'Butterbeer' like it was a strange word as he planted a dusty bottle in front of Ron. "And what's your pleasure tonight, Milord?"

"Scotch for me," Harry said, having decided he liked the taste of it better than Firewhiskey.

"A much better choice if you ask me. Best bottle of the house, of course. Let me see."

The man ducked beneath the bar and shortly returned with a green bottle with a white label.

"It's the best I have, Milord."

A bit surprised by the service, Harry nonetheless nodded and asked for a glass.

"Uhmm, yeah, a glass for me, too," Ron said, his eyes as large as saucers.

As the bartender produced two low, cylinder shaped glasses, Ron swiped the bottles away and headed for a table in a hurry. Harry produced five galleons from his pocket and threw them on the counter, then picked up the glasses.

"There's no need for you to pay, Milord."

For a moment Harry hesitated and looked at the man, he wondered what was going on; he couldn't imagine this man having a problem with hero worship.

"I insist on paying for my drinks, but thank you all the same," he said, with a polite smile.

"As you wish, Milord," the bartender said with a smile and a small bow with his head as he whisked away the coins with a practiced move. He seemed a bit familiar as he smiled.

Harry walked over to the table in the corner that Ron had procured and set down the glasses. Ron was already very busy draining his bottle of Butterbeer, gulping the frothy liquid down without pause.

"I can't believe he gave us whiskey, just like that," he said excitedly after the last gulp.

"They don't ask many questions here, Ron," Harry answered while pouring the glasses. He hesitated with the second glass for a moment, not sure if he should, but decided it was Ron's own choice.

He took a glass and carefully sniffed it, not too sure about anything served in a place like this.

The aroma was a pleasant surprise, smoky and salty. The taste was even better, smooth and with a long palate of taste. He was now even more grateful to Sirius for introducing him to real whiskey, and the rudimentary lessons on how to appreciate the smoky liquor.

He looked at the bottle. The scotch was called Laphroaig, and was a fifteen year old single malt. According to the label it was an 'Islay Malt' and he could almost taste the sea.

He was distracted by a sudden coughing at his side and he saw that Ron had guzzled down his glass in a single swallow.

"Take it easy, Ron. This isn't Firewhiskey. You're not supposed to drink it all in one go," he said with a smirk and patted the back of his coughing friend.

"That's strong stuff," Ron wheezed. "Give me another one."

Amused, Harry refilled Ron's glass and this time his friend took a sip. His face contorted and he said "And you really like drinking this stuff?"

"It's an acquired taste," Harry deadpanned. "It takes some getting used to."

Harry then set to drinking at a steady pace, refilling their glasses. Not much talking was done and they mainly looked at the other customers.

"Y'know, this is goo stuff…" Ron slurred, "when ya get used tooo i' anywayss."

Harry nodded. He was finally starting to relax; he had been needing this for a couple of days now. He was wondering if he could get away with keeping a bottle in his room at Hogwarts. It'd solve some of his problems.

"C'me'n mate, were in Ho-hogsmead a' night, have some bloo'y fun. Fred and George are gonna be so jealous."

"I'm sure they've been here plenty of times, Ron." Harry smiled.

With a sigh, Harry started to pull on his cloak, wondering if Ron would be able to walk back to the castle without help. At any rate, it was high time to go.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" said a voice behind him.

A/N If you would like to be informed of the next update, sign up for my Yahoogroup. The address can be found in my profile. The next chapter of Path to Power is available there right now.

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	25. Chapter XXIV

**Chapter XXIV**

"I can't believe you two are here. Shouldn't you have gone to The Three Broomsticks instead?"

"We figured Madam Rosemerta wouldn't let us in, knowing us as Hogwarts students and all," Harry answered.

"Maybe… but still, did you have to drag my little brother to the Hogshead of all places?"

"Actually, it was his idea. Apparently, Fred and George are regulars here, when they sneak out."

Bill chuckled. "Doesn't really surprise me."

He threw a glance at Ron, who was staring into his glass, still not sure how to deal with his oldest brother catching him halfway getting drunk.

"But still, the Hogshead?"

"I could ask the same of you," Harry replied, with a sudden suspicious glance. "What are you doing here anyway? Why aren't you in Egypt?"

Bill was silent for a moment and then seemed to make up his mind. "I suppose I should tell you I'm just here for a drink or two, but somehow I doubt you'd believe me.

I'm here on business for Dumbledore, but that information had better not get any further and I'll tell you no more," he said in a stern voice.

Harry nodded his understanding, mostly very glad that Bill had not blown up in anger as he, and, by the way Ron had paled when he had first seen his oldest brother, his best friend feared he'd do. Instead the eldest Weasley son had sat down, ordered a glass and joined them.

Harry was quite sure he was not supposed to see, but he saw the barkeep slip Bill a note with the glass. He decided not to ask questions.

"As for not being in Egypt… I requested a transfer. I wanted to be close because of the return of You-Know-Who.

Harry, listen, were you a normal student I wouldn't have any problems with you being here. Great Wizards know I was here in my fourth year, and a lot more drunk than Ron is, but…

Well, you of all people should know who's out there.

We think Hogsmead is reasonably safe, but…"

"But you still think it too dangerous… for me," Harry finished, not even bothering to ask who 'we' meant: Dumbledore.

"Yes," Bill simply answered.

"But Bill, you can't just lock Harry up," Ron protested.

"Oh, believe me, there have been suggestions in that direction, but Dumbledore refused.

But I don't think he had this in mind…" Bill sighed, and seemingly looked heavenwards.

"Still, I can imagine that if anyone needs to relax from time to time, it's Harry, especially with what's been going on. Congratulations on that by the way. But…" Bill sighed again,deeply, clearly uncertain how to deal with the situation.

"Listen, I'll make you two a deal. You let me escort you back to Hogwarts and I'll see what I can do on getting you out once in a while."

Harry looked at the older redhead and clearly saw that Bill was not going to take no for an answer and it suddenly dawned on him that the cursebreaker was letting Harry save face more than anything else. He appreciated the gesture, being treated like an adult for as far as it went.

He nodded and the three of them stood as soon as they had all finished their glasses.

As they pulled on their cloaks the barkeep came over.

"I hope everything was too your liking, Milord, gentlemen?"

"Yes," Harry said hesitantly, not quiet sure what to make of the man's behaviour, "thank you for your hospitality."

"Oh, my pleasure, Milord. Always happy to serve the House of Potter," the man said with a beaming smile. "I was once in the service of your Great-Grandfather and Grandfather as a retainer before I retired and started this place. Great men they both were; both died too young, but as they would have wanted too, fighting off the darkness. That's how I recognized the crest on your chest."

Harry looked down and saw that he was indeed unknowingly wearing a jumper with the Dragon crest on it.

He was confounded though. Here was a man who knew more of his grandfather than he did. But even more than that: The man clearly felt that it made Harry special in some way.

He had to say something, the man was obviously waiting.

"I'm… glad that you think so highly of my family, and… I want to thank you for your… service to them," he stuttered. Not quite knowing what to do, Harry did the first thing that came to mind, remembering Dumbledore's words not so long ago about rebuilding the influence of the House of Potter; this was as good a place to start as any. He thrust his hand in his pocket and took out a handful of galleons. "Please buy everyone here a drink on me, to their health."

The man beamed as he took the gold from Harry.

"Of course, Milord." Harry suddenly became aware that most of the room was looking at him; including Ron, who was gaping at the amount of gold Harry had just given over.

The barkeep took out his wand and Harry could feel Bill stiffen behind him. He was certain that the oldest Weasley brother had grabbed his own wand only seconds after the bartender

But the man only waved it at the bar, muttering under his breath. Pints started to fill themselves with ale and flew to the customers. Bill seemed to relax.

"To your Health, Mr Potter," was heard, as well as "To your Health, Lord Potter."

One table, however, did not toast him immediately.

"If you would, My Lord?" The bartender asked, beckoning Harry towards the table

The men, all older and clearly weathered by life, rose from their seat and made formal half bows as Harry approached; Bill and Ron at his back, one redhead weary, one confused.

The barkeep joined the men and picked up a mug of ale and all the men stood facing Harry.

"TO THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, CEDO NULLI," they called out as one, lifting their drinks in salute.

Only just remembering what Sirius had taught him, Harry inclined his head slightly and returned the toast "Cedo Nulli."

"We are all former retainers of the House of Potter, My Lord," The oldest of the men said. "We served with pride, and we all regretted the fact of Lord Stewart's death. I see much of him in you and if you have need we will answer the call again and stand behind the Dragon Banner."

Harry felt fully out of his depth by now. He had no idea who these men were or what exactly it was they wanted. He had been raised in an English suburb. He knew nothing of Nobility and its ways, except for what he had learned over the past few days. He did not know what these men expected.

What he did know was that he had to answer. He took a deep breath and took the plunge.

"Thank you, for your… loyalty. If I need comes, I will call." He inclined his head again.

The men apparently thought the answer was proper enough and made half bows.

"It's time for us to leave, Harry," Bill said softly and as they turned and left, he added, "You did good."

Harry smiled. It was a beginning, a small one, but most definitely a beginning.

"That was so weird," ranted Ron. He had been at it most of the way up from Hogsmead. "And what was it you said to them? 'kiedo nully'? What does it mean?"

"Cedo Nulli," Harry corrected him. He tapped on his chest where the crest was located. "Those are apparently my family's Words. I don't know what they mean."

"I Yield To No Man," Bill said absently.

"How do you know that?" Ron asked, surprised.

"It's Latin," Bill said, his eyes wandering back to Harry as he spoke to Ron.

Ron rolled his eyes. "That still doesn't explain how come you know it."

"What?" Bill said indignantly, his attention now focused. "I took ancient languages as a NEWT."

Ron snorted.

Bill chose to ignore his little brother.

"I think you two can find your way safely from here. I need to go talk to Dumbledore," he said, as they walked through the main doors.

"Goodnight, Bill," the two boys said and started their ascend of the main stairwell.

"That was too close," Ron said as they reached the first landing, "I hope he doesn't tell mum, I'd get a howler for sure."

"I wouldn't worry; Bill seemed quite alright with it. He was more worried about security."

"That's the strangest thing, isn't it? Needing security."

Harry only nodded; his face dark. He didn't like it, and he starting to worry that it'd get worse.

The two separated at the third landing, Ron going further up to Gryffindor Tower, Harry going to the Proctor's dorm.

Harry felt relaxed. There had been too much stress the last few days, but now he knew he could tackle most of it, he had just needed a moment to himself.

He passed the two suits of armour that had sprang away when Harry muttered the password.

The common room was empty, the fireplace only filled with a few glowing embers, so Harry made straight for his bedroom at the end of the hallway.

As he passed the last door before his own he heard muffled moaning.

Not quite sure what the sound was, he stood still for a moment.

He heard it again. Was someone in pain?

Then he heard it, but louder, coming from the room he was standing next to.

It was Zabini's room.

"Oh God, yes," he heard her voice, the sound muffled by the door. He leaned in, to better hear.

Suddenly, when hearing another moan, he realised what must be going on.

His face turned red and he felt his cheeks burn. What the…

Hadn't she been kissing him a few days ago? And now she was…

He couldn't believe it. Not that he was in love or anything, but this?

Then he heard a distinct male grunt. He didn't want to know. He was not going to stand here and listen to whoever it was she was with go at it. He wasn't.

"Don't stop," Zabini seemed to say breathlessly.

Damn, he was just going to go into his room, look up how to cast a silencing spell and hope it worked. He was not going to stand there and…

Another loud moan.

Why was he still standing here? It wasn't like he wanted to know who was in there.

"Michael!" was the last shriek Harry heard before he ran into his room and covered his ears with his pillow when he realised he couldn't risk casting a silencing charm without Dumbledore there.

The next morning Harry forwent the Proctor table again to sit with his friends.

Hermione was cheerfully talking during breakfast, ignoring Ron, who was just sitting with his head on the table, letting out soft whimpers of distress from time to time. Hermione seemed to take this as the next step in Ron's lamentation on early mornings, something that was beneath her notice.

Their first lesson was Care of Magical Creatures.

"I still wonder where Hagrid is. Have you asked Dumbledore, Harry? You see him regularly now," Hermione asked him, "being his apprentice." Harry secretly smiled. The longing in Hermione's voice was clear to anyone listening. She would have given anything to be in his shoes. Ha, she probably would be a hell of a lot better at it.

Last night he had gone straight to bed, trying to forget what he had heard, had still been hearing even, and he had not even tried to work at the schedule he was supposed to make.

"Harry?" Hermione repeated, shaking him from his thoughts.

"I haven't asked," he muttered.

"You haven't asked? Why not?" she pushed on.

"Haven't had time, you'd be surprised how busy he is, or how tiring his lessons are."

"Hmppf," Hermione reacted, not wanting to say that he should be happy getting those extra lessons. "It could make a nice change of pace though. I do hope this new professor is capable, she seems rather young," she said, worry in her voice that Harry found exaggerated.

"She could never be as good as Hagrid," Harry answered distracted, throwing glances at the Proctor table.

"But this will be a chance to study some interesting Magical Creatures without the risk of bites, burns, poisoning or trampling. I'm not saying Hagrid's lessons weren't interesting, but like I said, it's a nice change."

"Yes, a nice chance to study girly animals, like that unicorn Grubbly-Plank showed us," Ron commented from his prone position.

"That was a very interesting lesson," Hermione protested.

"We couldn't even get close," Ron answered in an impatient tone.

"That's because only maidens can come close. She told us only the girls could come closer."

"Not anymore," Harry mumbled sullenly.

The three of them walked to Care of Magical Creatures, Ron and Hermione continuing to bicker, Ron clearly not keeping his end up as good as he normally would. As they arrived at Hagrid's hut Harry finally couldn't take it anymore. "Will you two _please _stop fighting? It's driving me barmy."

Both of them looked at Harry, abashed. "Sorry,' they both muttered.

Nothing more could be said because at that moment the new teacher signalled for the class, consisting of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, to assemble.

"Good morning class. For those of you who missed it, I am Professor Desiree Eravi, I'm apprentice to Sister Ellbridge, and I will be teaching Care of Magical Creatures for now," she said with exuberance. "I'm quite sure you'll enjoy my class and I have a lot of interesting animals planned for you as well as the OWL standards. I'd like to just dive in and get to know you all during classes. The first animal we'll be studying is the Glumbumble. Follow me."

She led to the class to what seemed like a glass cage, but it did not seem to stop sound and the class could hear the buzzing of insects. Inside were indeed furry bugs. They were larger than one would expect, about the length of a finger.

"Now, who can tell me why Glumbumbles are useful and therefore worth studying?" Professor Eravi asked.

Hermione's hand shot up immediately, together with those of several Ravenclaws.

"Yes, you," she said, pointing at Hermione. "I'm sorry I don't know any names yet, could you please say them before you answer? I'll try to remember them as quickly as possible."

"Hermione Granger, Professor, Gryffindor," she added to be complete.

"According to 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' a Glumbumble secretes a fluid which produces melancholy. This fluid can be absorbed through the skin, or by ingestion, which is more powerful. This is the reason why this insect has an XXX rating. According to specified literature, namely 'Natural Mind Manipulators' the fluids of especially old Glumbumbles have been known to drive wizards and witches to suicide.

However, it can also be used as a counteractive to the hysteria caused by eating Alihotsy leaves. This is, of course, very useful as these leaves are used in several potions with mind altering properties. Overdoses or bad measuring when mixing the potion can be counteracted or balanced…"

"Yes, yes, thank you, Miss Granger," Professor Eravi said with a smile. "Take three points for Gryffindor." She addressed the class again. "Miss Granger is quite right about the properties of Glumbumble fluid, so use your gloves when feeding them, which is today's lesson. Nettles can be found behind the cage, and you'll find that the cage itself lets through your hand but not the Glumbumbles."

The class broke up to get nettles and started to feed the furry insects.

"Excuse me, Professor?" Harry asked out of earshot of most of the class.

"Yes, Mr…?"

"Harry Potter, Professor. Where is Hagrid?"

Professor Eravi gave him a kind smile and said: "I'm afraid I don't know. They don't tell me very much, only being an apprentice, but I'm quite sure you understand that. I've heard you are Professor Dumbledore's apprentice?"

Harry could not help but smile a bit. She had not had the usual reaction people had to hearing his name.

"Only since a short while," Harry mumbled.

"I take it you liked Professor Hagrid?" she asked.

"He's my friend," Harry answered truthfully. "I was hoping you knew. Guess I'll have to ask Professor Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you, but I'm quite sure he's perfectly alright, else they would have said something. He's probably just extending his vacation.

Better go back to your lesson. I hope you'll enjoy this class just as much as if Professor Hagrid was here."

"I might not be here for all of the lessons," Harry said tentatively, "Professor Dumbledore is rearranging my schedule."

"Oh yes, quite right, I remember it marked on my class list. Well, I hope you'll be here as often as you can, and if you need some extra help for your OWL just ask," she said.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry answered. He quite liked this new Professor… even if she wasn't Hagrid, he added mentally.

McGonagall caught up with Harry as he walked to the Gargoyle in front of Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Potter, a word."

"Yes, Professor?"

"Professor Dumbledore is not here, so he asked me to give you this note," McGonagall said and handed Harry a folded up piece of parchment. It was sealed with wax bearing an imprint of the Hogwarts crest.

"He also said that if you had any questions, he had instructed you to ask them to me. If you have any later on, I will be in my office."

She waited for him to open the note and read it.

_Mr. Potter,_

_Unfortunately, I have been called away on business. _

_For today I would like you go through the basic meditation techniques I taught you. Do not attempt the more advanced skills we have been practising._

_You have an appointment with Professor Sinistra in her quarters at dinner time. She will be one of your tutors._

_If you have any problems, or need anything, you may direct your questions to Professor McGonagall._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

"Any questions, Potter?"

"Just one, Professor. Where can I find Professor Sinistra's quarters?"

"Why do you wish to know, Mr. Potter? It's not common policy to know where a Professor's quarters are, unless they are Head of House, of course."

"I have to report to her after dinner. She's to be one of my tutors."

McGonagall seemed to make a disapproving clicking sound in the back of her throat at that.

"Very well. She has her quarters in the Astronomy Tower, on the floor beneath the observation level, behind the painting of Copernicus 'The Muggle Teacher'. Just knock on the frame."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Run along, Potter."

Harry was running.

His meditation had lasted longer than he had thought so he was late. He hadn't even had time to go down to the kitchens and ask Dobby for some food as he would be missing dinner.

He was winded as he arrived at the portrait of Copernicus, a strict looking wizard with black hair that was as long as Snape's. He was most famous in the wizarding world for his discovery of the ninth planet of the solar system, then named Hera, but now more commonly known as Pluto, but his true passion had been teaching Muggles about the reality of the universe. He had almost been killed over it by an offended church.

Harry knocked on the portrait of the glaring Wizard. "Most students come up here to snog, you know; I'd better not catch you at it," the painted Wizard said with an east European accent.

"Come in, please," Harry heard and the painting moved to reveal a doorway.

"Professor, I'm here for my tutoring," Harry started, wanting to add that Dumbledore had sent him.

The Astronomy teacher turned sharply towards Harry, her green dress swishing. She was relatively young, compared to most of the other teachers. As the most attractive female teacher on staff (especially when she smiled, something she seldom seemed to do) she was a much talked about topic by the older Hogwarts boys.

"To start with," Professor Sinistra interrupted him, "you will not address me as Professor, but as Lady Sinistra during these sessions."

The Astronomy Professor observed Harry for any reaction but apparently did not see anything out of the ordinary.

"Furthermore, I will address you as Lord Potter. This is, of course, against Hogwarts' regulations which forbid the using of or even referring to any titles or social status beyond that of teacher and student, but, then again, you are here to learn just that."

This time around she must have seen surprise on Harry's face because she asked: "You were not… aware of the nature of your tutoring? Didn't Headmaster Dumbledore tell you anything?"

"No, Prof…" the Professor flicked up an elegant hand to call attention to Harry's mistake… "Lady Sinistra. I haven't spoken to Professor Dumbledore today; he's been called away on business."

"I see," she mused. "Let me elaborate then. It is the Headmaster's wish that you be taught the manners and etiquette befitting your new station. Of course, this should have been started years ago, but we will do what we can.

To explain why he has requested this task specifically of me, let me tell you that my father is Lord of House Sinistra, one of the more influential members of the Greater Council… I do take it you are aware of the relationship between the Greater and Higher Council?" she asked in a slightly haughty tone.

Harry quickly nodded, not wanting to seem completely ignorant. Dumbledore had explained this part.

"Very well, to continue: As I am the only teacher born of nobility, it was deemed that I would be best capable of instructing you. I will continue your etiquette instruction and build on what you have learned as a Proctor. As I have observed you during your astronomy lessons I am sad to say you will also need speech lessons.

After that, we will move on to teaching you what every young lord should know, such as a Wizards' Honour, but also discerning taste in wine, food and other such things. I'm quite pleased to see that your taste in clothes has at least improved since last year, even if your tastes run to dark. I will teach you to dress, walk and move like a young nobleman should.

In short, I will make you presentable in front of the Wizards' Council.

_Oh shite_ was Harry's only thought.

"Now, My Lord, have you dined yet?" Sinistra asked while gesturing to a table that was set for two in such an elaborate manner that Harry counted at least five forks with every plate.

_Bugger._

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